


Secrets of the Moon

by Endless_musings



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Adult Content, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Werewolf, Eventual Happy Ending, F/M, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Hermione doesn't know about magic...yet, Mutual Pining, Possessive Draco Malfoy, Post-Battle of Hogwarts, Sexual Content, Slow Burn, Violence, Were-Creatures, Werewolf Mates, dramione - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-01
Updated: 2020-08-29
Packaged: 2021-02-28 05:35:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 37,963
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22978480
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Endless_musings/pseuds/Endless_musings
Summary: When Draco stumbles upon Hermione working at a law firm - a lone wolf with no pack, and no knowledge of the magical world - he makes it his mission to help her discover the secrets of her past. But, will they be able to withstand the danger that comes along with knowing who she really is?-The look on his face lacked the poised aristocracy she'd become accustomed to; it was nearly animal, primal in its heat and power. Wherever his eyes touched her body, her skin tingled."Get dressed."She gritted her teeth as her fists tightened. "You barge into my place, scare me half to death, and now you're ordering me around like I'm some kind of dog-""You just attempted to pick a fight with an alpha days before the full moon…in a bathrobe no less."Hermione opened her mouth to challenge his authoritative tone until his words sunk into her gut.Her legs were exposed. Her hair soaking wet. The fluffy robe was barely covering her chest. Oh.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 215
Kudos: 379





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome! This story is a bit different than traditional Harry Potter/Dramione werewolf tales. I take liberties with werewolf lore, and in some cases, reach outside of the Harry Potter universe for lore inspiration. In this, Hermione was raised without knowledge of the wizarding world, and in that way it is an AU. I promise I eventually explain everything - It's all part of the mystery. All questions will be answered! This is a slow burn Dramione fic, that takes place after the Battle of Hogwarts. EWE. 
> 
> Warnings: This story will heat up in later chapters. There will be graphic depictions of violence and sex. In general, there will be mature content, including alcohol use. For chapters with mature content, I will warn readers at the beginning in an author's note. 
> 
> Disclaimer: In no way do I own any part of the Harry Potter Franchise. All credit belongs to JKR. I do not have a BETA/ALPHA reader yet… and I would LOVE some feedback! If you are interested, please message me. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy :)

**_Secrets of the Moon_  
Chapter 1**

Hermione itched at the skin beneath her knit jumper. The formality of the family law firm felt more stifling than usual; a pencil skirt, heels, and curtain covered windows caged her. She longed for the caress of fresh air. It had been months since her last transformation. With the moon reaching the peak of its cycle tonight, the wolf inside her was clawing for release.

_It's almost time._

But, she still had to maintain appearances a while longer. Her nails dug into her arm while she paced towards her father's office door, clutching a new set of files she had notated.

"Enter," a jovial voice called in response to her brief tapping on the door.

When she peeked her head into the office, she was greeted by a warm smile, nestled amongst dimples and the faint etching of wrinkles. Smooth blond hair and his thick form offered a sharp contrast to her wild chestnut curls and naturally toned physique. As a child, it was the first indicator that proved she shared no blood relation with the man she called her father.

Early in her life, these physical differences were easy to ignore, but as she grew older, her hair wilder and her skin tone more olive, the whispers of her peers outed the secret kept by her parents. Learning of her adoption was no surprise, per se, but the lack of information surrounding her previous life and where she came from plagued her curious mind. Nevertheless, she loved her parents; the former hippies who raised her in a quiet house on the edge of a national park, where as a family they tended to gardens and swam in fresh streams. They surrounded her with books and a life rich in academic pursuit, one she likely would not have experienced otherwise. Growing up the daughter of a dentist and a lawyer, her path in life had been set early on, she merely had to follow it and enjoy the scenery.

"Dry skin again?" Her father fretted with a furrow of graying brows, as he watched her claw at her skin through the sweater.

"Yes," she muttered. Jerking her fingers away from her arm, she stepped forward to hand him the files. "I've written my analysis of the environmental case. It's quite fascinating. I think we should meet with them."

"It's not a typical case we accept, Hermione. I haven't taken on a government environmental dispute in years," he huffed, flipping through the neatly organized papers.

At the sight of her deepening frown, he paused and then grumbled, shaking his head mostly to himself. "Alright, alright. Set the appointment… but I make no promise that we will take the case!" Her father slowly conceded, eyes warming in response to the rare smirk budding on Hermione's face. "Are you finding this more enjoyable? Now that you've been here a few months, I mean."

She was not. But she forced her best smile and nodded, ignoring the tension brewing under her skin. She loved her father, and she ached whenever she was the reason for the sadness in his wise eyes. "I enjoy cases that are meaningful to me," she explained lightly. "Divorce and family disputes over wealth feel repetitive. You raised me to care about more than that."

Her father released a deep laugh, setting the papers on his desk. "So it's all my fault, isn't it?" He said wryly, failing to hide the pride in his booming voice.

Hermione chuckled, and wrung her hands to keep from itching. "I suppose. We used to read about you in class- the water protection acts, and the conservation laws you fought for. And anyway, you know my affinity for the woods," she shrugged nonchalantly.

The light in her father's smile dulled to a waning candle, and the corner of his mouth quirked downward. Her love of the woods was a sore subject for her parents, and the real reason she suspected her father transitioned away from working as an environmental lawyer.

Despite her best efforts, her parents always knew she was _different_ than most children; inexplicable occurrences marked her upbringing. The wolf inside was her best-kept secret, painstakingly hidden from everyone she knew. Including her parents. Only she was aware of the duality that split her consciousness.

All her life, she suspected her parents buried their concerns regarding her unusual behaviors, justifying their occurrence until she was old enough to properly conceal them. That is not to say it was easy to hide, even with years of practice. When she was two, there was no way she could know that her impeccable senses were odd; she heard the deer in the forest before anyone could see them, and she used her sense of smell to find things. Sometimes, in her tantrums, the lights would respond by blinking, or a glass would slip from a shelf. When she turned five, she could outrun boys double her age, relying on her balance and coordination to excel in athletics, with little to no practice.

Hardest, however, were the nights her body dragged her, sleepwalking into the forest where the darkness of the wood called out to her very soul. On more than one occasion, her parents searched frantically amongst the shadowed trees when they were aware of her absence, screaming their pleas for her return, but she never did. They'd recover her sleeping body from the back lawn each morning after her escape, nervously glancing at one another about the odd quirks that possessed their growing daughter. Much to her parents' curiosity, the weather never seemed to affect her; fever constantly smoldered under her skin. By the time she was twelve, they decided to rent their cabin in the woods and move to the casual quiet of a suburb, far from the call of the forest. They had assured her it was because they wanted to live closer to work, but in her heart, Hermione knew this was simply another justification they used to make her feel less peculiar.

Thirteen was the year her body split in half during the rise of the full moon. The thoughts in her head she had learned to keep at bay ripped forth and took control, unable to stay tucked within any longer.

That night had changed her; she was no longer her own. Piece by piece, she transformed slowly back into a version of herself; unable to ignore her fate any longer, a precarious balance between her wolf and she formed. While they were not in synch, as they perhaps ought to have been, her wild nature and human side reached a tentative agreement- neither would take over completely.

Years passed, and Hermione followed her parents' dreams, making them proud with each milestone achieved, most recent of which was her law degree. Her wolf waited, defiant, impatient, in the background. A week ago, at the age of twenty-five, she was finally able to return to the cabin of her childhood, purchasing it from her hesitant parents, who eventually agreed as a way to see their daughter's genuine smile once more. Commuting to her father's law office was a sacrifice well worth her time. Her wolf felt the insatiable call of freedom, and peace mulishly returned to her bones.

After years of battling with herself, Hermione found that she was mostly content with life's new balance… all except the questions about her existence that lingered on the edges of her mind, of course. Was her duality the reason her real parents left her on the doorsteps of the orphanage, with nothing but a blanket and a scribbled letter upon aged parchment?

And, if her adoptive parents knew who and _what_ she was, would they too abandon her?

Even now, it was this fear that kept her silent, the reason she hid her wolfish tendencies, transforming only deep in the forest, hidden amongst the darkness of midnight, when the wolf within could no longer remain caged. At times, her dual nature was a source of comfort; She had never met any others like herself. Though her beast felt isolated, she was never rid of the companion lurking just below her conscience.

"-big deal to take on a monumental case so early in your career. We will work together to… Er, Hermione?"

The worried look on her father's aging face brought her back to his office. Her cheeks turned red under the realization that he had been speaking to her through her trance.

"Princess," he slowly assessed her tired features, "why don't you schedule the meeting and then take the rest of the day off. Get home before dark and relax, you've earned it."

Leaning over his desk to give his hand a tight, reassuring squeeze, Hermione smiled with as much strength as she could muster. "Thank you, dad. This case means a lot to me."

_It's almost time._

Relief flooded her body as she raced away from the city and towards the woods, where tonight, she would celebrate a new chapter of her life.

* * *

No sooner did the tires of her old SUV touch the dirt driveway when she began tearing the clothes off her heated body. The buttons of her blouse scattered on the floor, and she reached for the zipper of her skirt while she pressed her elbow against the door handle. The wolf within did not care about the cost of a tailor. Emerging from the car, naked skin bathed in the light of the sun setting through the trees, she felt the familiar fire under her bubbling skin.

Effortlessly, her body contorted - cracking releasing, changing - and when at last her paws connected with the earth, she took off running into the vast forest surrounding her cabin.

A howl forced itself from her chest, the happiness of her wild companion was uncontainable. It had been months since she had last been able to run wild. Passing her exam to become an official solicitor was her top priority, and her opportunity to traverse the forest was limited.

But now… _Don't you feel it?_

She made quick work of scanning the forest, paws digging into the fresh earth while she darted from tree to tree. These forests had raised her, embraced her wild self and nurtured the parts that were invisible; navigating the trees was in her blood. Her chestnut fur rustled with the breeze, and the further she ran, the freer she felt.

Dusk had fallen upon the forest, and the waking of new creatures tickled her senses. Alone, she could not handle larger game, but she was magnificently fast, adept at hunting rabbits and squirrels. Tonight, her wolf would feast.

_Faster. Just beyond the meadow._

Cutting through the empty field, she saw her first unfiltered view of the full moon illuminating the tall grass. A calm flitted through her fur, and she yipped in response, surrendering more of her consciousness over to the wild. Nose turned toward the wind, she caught the scent of her meal, and without hesitation, she pressed her hind legs further into the dirt, propelling forward.

Back amongst the trees, she trodded forward after the delicious scent of a warm, quick pulse. Amidst the shadows she felt alive, the energy of all living matter seeped into her starved psyche. It was so very easy to get enchanted by the beauty in these woods. Her father had inherited the cabin and all of its nearly 10 hectares of land, most of which bordered nationally protected forests. Every rock, hidden stream, and branch had raised her, and she knew them as family. She knew where to hunt for wild food, and the best places to curl up and bask in the morning rays.

In her peripheral, she saw movement, and her legs became still. Eyes wide, and ears turned outward, she listened, tapping in to her heightened senses. Crouching, her paws inched forward, breathing steady and silent. In the darkness, her eyes saw all, from the individual specks of dirt, to the shallow puffs of warm air leaving her prey.

_Silent. Steady. Closer._

Lunging, her teeth punctured the neck of the rabbit, and a snap resounded through the trees.

Her wolf gleefully yelped at the fortune of a meal.

But, in her focus for food, she had tuned out the rest of the world until the hairs on the back of her spine were standing at attention, warning of a danger too close to outrun.

At the top of the tree line stood a wolf, incredibly large, and stark white against the black of the forest. Fur that nearly glittered silver from the illumination of the full moon meant that Hermione could see every detail of the burly creature. Her nostrils flared, filled with the delicious scent of musky pine and burning firewood.

What stood out most, however, was not his impressive size, nor his coloring, but the intelligence peering out through grey eyes. Intelligence that mirrored her own. She let out a low growl, teeth still dripping with the blood of her kill. But that didn't stop the white wolf from stalking forward.

Though large, his movements were elegant, and his head never dipped; he was proud and confident. Again, she growled, kicking up dirt with her back paw, a warning for him not to stray any closer. Resisting the urge to bow to his regal posture, Hermione watched as his form grew nearer in her vision, but she made no movement away.

_We will never win._

Assessing his prominent size she stowed her teeth. If it came to a fight, he'd easily crush her with a single bite.

When he was no more than twenty paces from her, he tilted his head to the side, ears cocked forward, putting her erratic heartbeat on display. He let out a beautiful howl, soft and firm, commanding, yet questioning. The fur on her back yielded, lulled by the harrowing tones and questioning silver eyes of the wolf.

And yet, the words from her biological mother's letter, which had been tucked safely in her blanket as a newly orphaned babe, rang strong in her ears; _Stay hidden, and safe. Let the moon be your guide._

Glancing up at the moon's soft glow between the trees, she tentatively stepped forward, taking the white wolf off guard. Using his momentary distraction to her advantage, her paws kicked dirt into his eyes and she dashed off to his left, galloping toward the dense brush.

There was no hesitation in her gait, no time to look back. She felt him gaining speed, could hear his light steps and hard breathing close behind. Speed had always been her strength, and she let herself fall deeper still into her wolf. Trees darted past, old leaves crunching under her paws with each leap forward.

 _He could be a companion! No longer alone!_ Her wolf chastised, but she growled low in her chest, and fought the urge to slow. He'd kill her… she was certain.

 _Faster_. _Harder. Toward the waterfall._

Instinctively, she maneuvered away from the direction of her cabin. Unwilling to reveal her safe haven, she ran in the opposite direction, toward the drop-off, where the river flowed over the edge of the world into a deep pool of water. If she could make it there, she'd give herself completely to her wild side, jumping down to safety.

The white wolf kept pace, only a few short meters behind, and she wondered if he'd ever tire. Nearing the rushing water, she felt her mind switch, melting away with the last of her humanity.

 _Stay hidden, and safe._ The note flashed in her mind. Stay hidden. She would tire before she outran him, his powerful, long legs would best her eventually.

A growl erupted from her throat, and she burst forward with impossible speed, dark fur stealthy in the shadows. Three meters, then two, her paws ached as they slammed against the stone ledge.

She'd made this leap before, countless times, but each one took her breath away. The last of her steps bounded off the earth, and then there was nothing but air below her body. A panicked yelp broke the silence behind her.

As she free-fell, she tumbled; Paws kicking. Fur flying. Heart thumping. In her throat, she felt the nauseous push of her stomach.

Until she hit the icy water below. Cloaked by the water, she righted herself, staying underwater as she made her way across the deep pool, where thick brush met the river.

By the time she surfaced, hidden in absolute darkness, his loud howl and whines called to her from high above, and he begged for an answer. But she disappeared into the dark forest. She knew she might only have seconds of an advantage.

Silencing her wolf's violent pleas against it, she shifted. Moonlight bathed her naked skin, but her hair still stood on edge. She threw herself into the wet dirt, coating and muddying every inch of herself, and then she crawled toward a thick area of brush and rocks. She pushed herself into a dark crevice further burying herself in dirt and dead leaves. If she could remain quiet enough, mask her scent long enough, perhaps he'd lose interest. Perhaps she could escape back to her cabin and forget his demanding cries.

Shaking with a mixture of chill and fear, Hermione remained absolutely still. Absolutely silent. Her only indication the white wolf still searched for her was his call through the trees. His calls to her. It physically hurt to ignore, and she curled within herself, waiting for morning.

A single thought stayed with her as dawn brightened the shadows.

_We are not alone._


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for the INCREDIBLE response. I was truly not expecting so many people to read the first chapter! Your kind words, follows, favorites, and suggestions mean so much to me. As always, I am open to any and all feedback. In the first half of this chapter, I lay a lot of groundwork, but we get a lot of Dramione action in the second part.
> 
> I don't have a beta/ alpha yet, so all mistakes are my own. If you catch any, feel free to let me know.
> 
> Now… on to the good stuff! ;)
> 
> -EMC

_**Secrets of the Moon  
** _ **Chapter 2**

Draco had not managed a comfortable night's sleep in weeks; since his run-in with the mysteriously alluring, chestnut coloured wolf in the forest to be exact. The night of their chase, he'd spent hours combing the forest, cursing himself that it had taken so long to convince his wolf to jump off that bloody cliff. No other wolf had ever managed to outsmart him before, and the compulsion to find the one who did drove him to unsafe lengths. When dawn approached, however, he had no choice but to make his way home, lest he be stranded naked in the wood.

Since then, a crevice of emptiness had opened in his chest, a longing which ached to be filled with the scents of warm vanilla and toasted cinnamon. The memory of his moonlight chase elevated his heart rate even now, and made him sweat through the night, tossing and turning against silk sheets in an infuriatingly lonely bed. Each time she eluded him in his dreams, his body grew more and more frustrated.

His inner wolf was restless, and demanded he try harder to find her but visiting the woods in human form had proved fruitless. Though her scent lingered in his dreams, it had been washed clean from the wet autumn leaves covering the earth. Knowing he'd never explore enough land in his current body, he was resigned to the daily cold showers which started his every morning, all while his mood further soured.

With a yawn, Draco sauntered into the dining room where his mother, the matriarch of the Malfoy Estate, was elegantly sipping tea.

"You didn't sleep again," she sniffed from the end of the long table, delicately placing her cup upon its dish. Astute, sparkling blue eyes never left her son's drawn face. With a flick of her wand, she called forth a steaming pot of water to fill another cup on the table.

Pulling out a chair, he took his place across from her, avoiding her gaze by fiddling with his napkin. "I'm fine," he growled.

"I didn't ask how you are," his mother said with a raised eyebrow, silently warning him against his plan at avoiding the conversation. "I'm your mother, I don't have to do that." There was a sparkle in her eyes, despite her stern tone.

The silence of the room was broken by the scraping of Draco's chair away from the table as he stood. "I don't have time for this," he hissed.

Another flick of her wand, and then, a sharp tug yanked on Draco's ear. The wooden chair thrust hard into the back of his legs and he let out a groan. Seated once more.

Narcissa's quirked lip and icy gaze told Draco he would eat his breakfast and shut up.

The pair were quiet while their house-elf served Draco his usual breakfast; a cup of tea, a heaping pile of eggs, four pieces of buttered toast, and Lincolnshire sausage, all served on delicate crystal.

Narcissa patted the side of her lips gently with her napkin. "What has your wolf so restless these past weeks?"

"I don't want to talk about it," Draco tepidly replied, his eyes flashing with annoyance.

"Hm," Narcissa tsked, and she folded her hands neatly in her lap. "Perhaps the full moon next week will help release your frustrations. I hear Astoria may be visiting."

"Mother," Draco groaned, massaging his temples with long fingers. "Can we _please_ not do this. Not today."

But she ignored him. "You speak of starting a new pack. I only bring Astoria up because you cannot hope to achieve starting one _alone_ ," she snipped. "It's biologically impossible. You're getting on in age, and your father and I are concerned this venture is a mistake-"

"It's not a-"

She released a loud harrumph of breath, smoothing the edges of her perfectly coiled hair. "We understand your need to have something of your own, but the pack will be yours soon enough. Your father won't be Alpha forever. Everything you want can still be found here."

Draco dropped his fork. "The lakehouse and surrounding land is my birthright granted to me by Grandmother... Merlin rest her soul. And the purpose of separating our pack is to protect us if our land is taken-"

"It's an excuse for you to leave behind your responsibilities!"

"And what's wrong with that? I've never agreed with the pack dynamics here," Draco coolly argued, his long fingers twitching with rage.

"Then change them," Narcissa barked. "You're an Alpha. It's time to start behaving like one!"

_The lakehouse_. Draco's subconscious conjured images of a fireplace, of children, and a chestnut-haired woman curled up into his side. When his Grandmother passed a few months ago, her will entrusted him with her parcel of land, a lovely space bordering the national forest and the lake that was adjacent to Malfoy Manor. It was relatively small in comparison to the monstrosity that was the Malfoy Estate and its many hectares, but it satisfied his desire to be in charge of a pack he could be proud of - one that strayed from the old ways.

Draco picked up his fork. "Need I remind you that the muggle government wants to force our hand in selling large pieces of our property? If they win, the land won't be enough to support the current pack. Dividing the pack is the best strategy at maintaining some of our power. Obviously I'd align with father's goals." He shoved eggs into his mouth and swallowed in one gulp. "If the muggles have their way, there will be construction of an oil pipeline and hundreds of humans swarming our property within the next year."

"Your father won't allow that," Narcissa whispered sternly.

"It may not be that simple, mother." Draco sighed in exasperation and took another bite of perfectly warmed bread as he mulled over their predicament. "Father can't protect everyone forever. Other pack members have lost their land. Just look at the Notts! We are going to fall victim to the same fate if we don't prepare."

"Leaving is not the answer," Narcissa half pleaded, observing her son idly pick at his toast. It did not take the keen eye of a mother to tell that his mind was elsewhere. "You can't abandon the pack, not now."

Draco sighed. There'd be no need for a new pack if today's meeting with the lawyer was disastrous; he needed to keep his composure and focus. If the muggles won, and Malfoy Manor was no longer the safe haven to the pack, it was likely his father would move the new headquarters to the lakehouse- _his_ lakehouse. Then, his dreams of being the alpha of an autonomous pack in England would remain just that, a dream.

"Drop it, mum. I will not discuss this any further today." Draco exhaled through clenched teeth, the cold of his genteel mask slipping back into place.

While the tense silence droned on, unsolicited images of silky chestnut fur drifted through Draco's mind. He wanted to erase the smell of the petite wolf from where the memory had permanently embedded itself in his nostrils. It was a scent clean of others, and he knew she was unmarked, which only served to drive his wolf mad. It struck him as odd she was alone; It was unusual, and dangerous, to be caught without pack protection. Uncommon even for him. As an alpha, he had only been alone to scout the boundaries of his land, where he one day hoped to start a new pack.

Noticing his mother's breathing had slowed, and the angry glint in her eye subsided, Draco began cautiously, his tongue gently swiping his teeth beneath thin lips. "Do you know of any other packs currently residing around the northern region, near the lakehouse?"

"No. That land belongs to the government now, save for a few private residences. It's why your Grandmother loved it - the peacefulness of the place. There have not been wolves there for a long time, not since the dying out of the shifters."

"Shifters?" Draco questioned, failing to hide his intrigue behind another bite of toast.

"What _was_ the purpose of your pack tutors..." Narcissa muttered under her breath in disdain. "Before the use of the lycanthropy virus to create packs, there were those who could shift into wolf form at will. They did not require the moon, nor the virus to shift. It was simply in their blood, a duality of wolf and man, living within one body. A gift from Morgana herself."

"What happened to them?"

A touch of sadness entered the normally stoic woman's features. "Their beauty and spirit was unmatched, and though they held both the power of magic, and soul of wolves in their blood, they were too gentle in nature, too mysterious, too few, too _different_. The lycanthropy virus comes with limitations, but, after generations of fine breeding the resulting wolf is more powerful, more vicious. Shifters were less equipt in the art of killing for sport," she whispered solemnly. "The fight for territory is not a new challenge. With the increase in population across Europe, werewolves of all kinds had a difficult job maintaining their secrecy. Most were killed by loss of habitat, others at the hands of muggle efforts to control the wolf population. Some were killed off by those infected with lycanthropy."

"Why would werewolves kill shifters?"

"For the same reason they have killed each other since the dawn of time. Power. Control. Greed. Territory. They were _unusual._ Seen as a threat by some." Narcissa shrugged delicately, skirting the horrors of her own decisions under that justification before taking a graceful sip of tea. "Why do you ask?"

Sensing his mother's nagging intrigue Draco shook his head slightly, quickly tucking the image of the auburn wolf just out of reach in his mind. "I'm considering building my compound on the northern edge of the property, where the old hunting lodge is located. I just need to ensure I don't stumble upon any rivals. My pack will be small to start. No more than ten to begin."

"Assuming your father agrees to allow this." Narcissa narrowed her eyes, shrewdly observing the avoidance of his stare. "There are no secrets in a pack, Draco," she murmured.

_Oh, but there are._

The slow unfurling of his wolfish grin finally broke the tension, and he abruptly stood from the table. "Of course, mother," he drawled, walking over to give her shoulders a slight squeeze. "I'm off to meet father and the lawyer."

"Is this the muggle lawyer you were discussing last week?"

"Indeed."

"Lucius did not mention the appointment was today," Narcissa quipped coolly.

"Father is positively furious it's come to this. A _muggle_ is his only option at protecting his land. The sight of him in muggle attire may well be the best of my life," he chuckled darkly. Unable to contain his grin, Draco chose to ignore his mother's disapproving glare, and he leaned down to press a light kiss against her cheek.

"Draco," Narcissa scolded. "Do try not to take so much joy in his suffering. It's unbecoming."

"Of course," he mischievously muttered. "Have a wonderful day, mother." He bowed theatrically before turning on his heel toward the apparition point outside.

* * *

Landing in muggle London, Draco quickly adjusted his crisp dark charcoal suit jacket. Empty streets greeted him for his short walk, and once again he lost himself to the thoughts of his future. His mother was not wrong; he needed a mate if he ever hoped to start his own pack. As a natural alpha, Draco was always a leader; wizards and witches followed his word, often without challenge or argument, and his authority infiltrated his every interaction.

When he had been turned during the transition ceremony at the young age of ten, it was obvious that with the guidance of his father, he would one day lead the pack into modernization. It was in his blood to do so.

Modernization, though, would require a changing of the guard, and with the centuries-old laws and expectations set in place amongst the pure-blooded families, Draco felt the battle would be hopeless. Not everyone wanted change in the way he did. The disastrous Battle of Hogwarts, and the failed agenda of the Dark Lord, had not helped matters, and purebloods were still distrusted by the wizarding world. It was only by the skin of his teeth - and _Potter's_ testimony- that he had avoided Azkaban.

This opportunity to separate packs in a way that would not entirely sever the bond with his family, was his access to freedom. He could have his cake, and eat it too. As Merlin intended. But his plans for his new _wolf den_ , so to speak, all rested on the Malfoy Estate staying intact. _Well_ , he conceded, intact enough so there was no need to permanently move headquarters of the Wiltshire pack to _his_ lakehouse _._

Adjusting his jacket once more, Draco gracefully sauntered into the law firm to meet his father.

Instead, he was greeted by an impossibly forbidden smell that bombarded his heart and made his skin flush with the tantalizing heat of pleasure.

Warm cinnamon. Vanilla. All steeped in freshly broken pine.

_We've found her._

Subconsciously his tongue grazed his lips and he trekked forward in pursuit of the smell, ignoring the decorum of sitting in the waiting area. His nose led him down the hallway, toward a small office near the back of the firm. Unwavering in his pursuit, Draco silently walked to the doorway, his instinct sharpened like goblin steel. Grey eyes widened when they landed upon the deliciously shapely backside of a woman with wild chestnut hair. Petite, and frozen. If her drumming heartbeat did not betray her emotions, the fluttering of hundreds of papers hitting the floor certainly did.

Her gasp of breath tightened the muscles below his navel, the twitching causing a hardening of his loins.

"So, you are real," Draco whispered deep and low, so primal he didn't recognize it. Another step through the threshold. "I was beginning to think I'd dreamt the whole thing. But your scent," he breathed deeply, eyes nearly rolling backwards, "and your _hair…"_

Finally, her body snapped to attention and she faced him with glowering copper eyes set upon a slender face. "What about my hair?" She seethed.

_Feisty. Perfect._

Draco was drawn to her full pink lips, puckered upon her face in an alluring pout. Light freckles danced across the bridge of her delicate nose and high cheekbones. Though stunning, the average man would have certainly missed her true beauty, which was contained behind a reserved facade. But _he_ was aware of the barely contained forest, the endless wild bubbling behind her features. He needed to release it. To bathe in her fiery spirit.

A deliciously sweet aroma of adrenaline and the tinges of arousal encased the tiny office. _She likes what she sees!_ His wolf preened.

"It's positively _wild_ ," Draco purred with liquid lust, and the spark in his eye caught fire with each pass over her body. "You're just as small in human form as your wolf is," he observed, causing her to twitch with discomfort.

"Why is my size any of your concern?" She folded her arms, and her elongated nails dug into her flesh. Ready to tear, and slash. Unlike him, she was unamused. "Who the hell are you?"

There was no denying the fear in the rigidity of her spine, contrasting with the soft curve of her exposed neck. Despite her fear, her eyes never left his own, and there was no submission in her gaze.

_The perfect match for an alpha._ His tongue darted over his lips and he exhaled a low chuckle at the thought.

Aware of the tension in her body, he ever so cautiously stalked further into the office, drawn nearer to where her scent teased his nose.

"Stop," she released a panicked breath. "There are others around, they'll know if you hurt me-"

Draco cocked his head, and his eyes momentarily flashed ice blue. "What makes you think I want to hurt you?" He interjected defensively.

Wincing in response to his step closer, she uttered forcefully, "Because you keep hunting me."

Only then did Draco notice the forward posture of his body, instinctively cornering her in the office. He felt his face flush and he leaned back on his heels, holding up his hands.

_Patience_! He chastised his wolf, who burrowed into the confines of his consciousness. _I'll handle this. We cannot lose her._

"My intention is not to hurt you," he snickered with a weak grin and tinged pink cheeks. The dangerous fire in his eyes subsided to a slow simmer of ashed coals. "I'm Draco Malfoy, son of Alpha Lucius of the Wiltshire pack. I'm here for an appointment to discuss a legal case."

_The client?_ Hermione furrowed her brow and caught her lower lip between her teeth, debating on how to respond to the imposing - though entirely too fetching- man before her... the man who was here for her 10 o'clock appointment. Her first real case. "I'm… Granger. Hermione. Hermione Granger, that is," she stammered in time with her pounding heart. "I'm one of the lawyers with this firm."

"I was under the impression that this place was for muggles," Draco barked a laugh, trying to quell his wolf's howling desire in his head, while putting her at ease. "Though, I'm surprised I've never heard your name before." His eyes traveled across her face, searching yet failing to find marks of familiarity. Fear wafted through his nose, and he paused to consider her tense shoulders and wide eyes. Cautiously, he lifted his hands in a show of surrender. "Allow me to help you," Draco whispered. With a flick of the wand he had hidden in his sleeve, the papers she dropped earlier stacked themselves neatly on the desk.

Her eyes glued to his and her jaw went slack.

"Mug-Muggles?" Hermione stuttered, doe eyes blinking rapidly to process the stacked papers. "How did... I mean what's…" she shook her head in the direction of his wand and gasped in tension-filled air. Her freckles became pronounced as the colour drained from her skin.

His jaw tightened and his piercing grey eyes became barely visible through narrowed slits that bore into her. "What do you mean you don't kn-"

Before Draco had a moment to dive deeper into conversation, he smelled the familiar scent of his father and another human rounding the corner into the office.

A single pointer finger appeared in front of Hermione's eyes. "Not a word about this!" Draco harshly commanded.

Authoritative. Short. She wouldn't dare defy his word, his wolf knew. But her fear was a storm; he heard it thrumming in her chest, and his heart painfully seized.

"Ah, there you are, Hermione!" A cheerful man's voice flooded the office. "And you must be Mr. Malfoy's son, Draco."

Draco's beast attempted a growl at the sound of her name on another man's tongue, of which he hid low in his chest by clearing his throat.

"Draco," Lucius bit out through a taut smile. "I see you're already acquainted with Mr. Granger's _daughter_."

Draco's inner wolf heeled in response, satisfied that he was not being challenged. But this man was… human? Stealing a glance at the young female lawyer, he noticed her skin had turned ashen and her eyes were dazed.

False smiles were Draco's speciality, and his lips charmingly extended despite his discomfort. "Indeed."

"Shall we move to the conference room?" Mr. Granger said with a small clap, oblivious of the constricting air in the room, and that his daughter looked seconds from bolting out the door, screaming in terror.

"Of course."

Unnerving as it was, Draco allowed himself to follow Mr. Granger at the expense of exiting the room behind Hermione. Nothing appealed more to him than staring at the tight fabric stretched over her lovely behind as she walked, but his goal was to put her at ease, not bury her in more fear. As it was, Draco was quite certain she was close to fainting.

A werewolf born of muggles? Unaware of magic? _Living amongst humans as though she wasn't the most powerful being in the room._ Nothing made sense.

The conference room was large, though warm in its decor, and not in the least bit clinical. Draco made certain to let Hermione sit before he did, to ensure he was seated directly across from her.

"Let's get right to it then," Mr. Granger's kind voice was laced with a calming note of authoritative expertise. "I have reviewed your case, and there is something here that interests me. However, we need more information before I know if we have a solid foundation to form our case. Though I do warn you, regardless of what you have, eminent domain laws make this difficult to fight. Hermione, can you brief the Malfoy's on what you've found thus far?"

She nervously cleared her throat. "Yes, right. To review, the government has found crude oil near your property which they believe to be cost-effective to extract, but in order to make it worthwhile, they need to build a pipeline to transport it as efficiently as possible to the refineries. There are some private corporations and investors involved, along with the government."

Draco watched as she thoughtfully paused to collect herself. "Now, you can refuse sale of your property to private corporations, however, you _cannot_ refuse the sale of your property if the government requests. Which, as you are aware, it has. The proposal they have sent you gives you four months to respond to their request and negotiate payment."

"If what you are saying is true, that eminent domain laws apply here, how would we go about fighting this?" Draco questioned. Truthfully, he did not care what she said, he just wanted to hear her speak again.

"In order to refuse the government the sale of your land, we must prove that there exists a detrimental impact on the environment - a tough sell, even when oil money is not the primary motivator. There are environmental agencies we can partner with on this case, but none have been successful in the past. There are currently five operating pipelines in the United Kingdom - this new pipeline would be the largest, and the closest to the national parks." Her poised intellect was almost erotic to Draco; the even tone of her voice, and the confidence he had not yet witnessed spurred him to lean in toward her. She could not hide the tinge of unfiltered passion in her voice, and Draco shook thoughts of her taking charge in _other_ areas of his life. He shifted slightly in his seat.

"How likely are we to retain our land, Mr. Granger?" Lucius questioned in an almost bored manner, shaking Draco from his fleeting daydream.

"It's difficult to say. There is oil involved, and financial motivation on the part of officials to see that it happens. Governments have a lot of firepower to fight these sorts of cases."

"So do I," Lucius drawled with an arrogant laugh. "What will you need from us?" Lucius demanded.

"Land trusts, deeds- any paperwork you have regarding the history of your land and any proof of family ownership. Historical landmarks, endangered species, and claims of any sort will help in our fight to maintain your property. We must create a compelling argument as to _why_ the government cannot possibly request the sale of your land."

"Very well. Draco will assist you in collecting the necessary documents," Lucius declared. "He is excellent in the art of researching."

Mr. Granger smiled. "Then he will be wonderfully matched with Hermione's skill set. She will work with Draco on building your case. I'll overview the progress, of course," he exclaimed quickly in response to the thin blonde brow raising higher on Lucius's forehead.

Draco met Hermione's eyes and held them for a moment; the bravado she displayed only moments before had melted into a tired weariness. His wolf wined- she clearly did not want to work with him.

"Before we begin work on this case," Mr. Granger pondered, "may I ask a question?"

"So, you will take our case?" Lucius assessed, tapping a pale finger against his bony cheek.

Mr. Granger held up his hands. "We need to see any and all information about your property first. Then, I will decide," he huffed. "This is an absorbent amount of money the government is offering you, and you would not lose everything. It seems you'd maintain control of your house and the immediate grounds. It's certainly much smaller than what you have now, but it's something. What exactly is your interest in fighting this?"

Lucius frowned, and the action caused the skin around his eyes to pull downward as well. "I will not tolerate the noise and attention it brings to have a pipeline practically running through my yard. Nor do I want _helicopters_ patrolling the lines weekly for spills, as I've read they do. It's ours. The Malfoy family has lived on that land in relative _peace_ since the dark ages, and I am certainly not a man who shares well, Mr. Granger."

If Draco had to place the emotion on Hermione's expressive face, it would be offended, he thought. She was obviously taken aback by his father's abrupt and brutal honesty. But, most importantly, she looked confused, as though she were trying to assess whether this wolf was as cruel as he portrayed himself to be. As he suspected she imagined other wolves to be - hence her fear of him. Had she never met an alpha? Draco wondered.

Draco caught her simmering copper orbs, and spoke low, passionately, like they were the only two in the room. "This is our land, and it has been for centuries. We respect and honor what the land has given us, and we do not want to see it defiled and dirtied. The privacy it has provided has been invaluable. It's the only place we have been able to _exist_ peacefully. Having an oil pipeline running through the center of it would be disastrous."

Mr. Granger furrowed his brow, lost at the peculiar words both father and son had chosen in their arguments. However, Draco, taking one look at the sparkle that gleamed in the corner of the small wolf's eye, _knew_. He had gotten through to her. She understood their real plight.

"Do you have any further questions?" Mr. Granger asked.

"None," Lucius drawled.

"Excellent. Then I will have Hermione schedule an appointment with Draco to review the paperwork and learn more about the Malfoy Estate. Once that is finished, we will reconvene to discuss our options. Mr. Malfoy, please do not hesitate to contact my secretary should any additional questions arise."

Lucius was first to stand from the table, followed quickly by Mr. Granger. The two departed the conference room in haste, leaving Draco and Hermione in a tense silence that seemed to swallow the lone wolf.

"Do you have availability tonight to meet with me, Ms. Granger? Perhaps over dinner?" Draco murmured once he knew her father was out of earshot. "There is much I need to discuss with you."

Hermione shuffled the papers in front of her, avoiding his intense gaze. "You can schedule a meeting with our assistant on your way out." Cold, a forest cloaked in snow and fear. "I believe there is availability tomorrow and Thursday." With none of the grace he'd seen in the woods, she stood stiffly and adjusted her skirt, purposely keeping her eyes fixated anywhere but his face. Without the others in the room, she looked faint again.

_Look at us!_ The alpha in him demanded, but he quelled his authoritative nature by running a hand tightly through his hair.

"Right then," Draco stood slowly, still trying to avoid frightening her more. "Just be sure to keep this-"

"Keep all this to myself?" Hermione bit out a sharp laugh, coated with sarcasm. "You don't have to worry about _your_ secret, Mr. Malfoy. I've lived this far without a soul knowing anything about me. I've no intention to stop now. It's _you_ and your tongue that concerns me."

_She will learn to trust us, give her time,_ he reasoned, though his wolf wanted to show her now; touch her and reassure her inner beast that he was the answer to all her mysteries, he could be the keeper of her secrets, if only she would let him in.

Draco followed Hermione to the door and paused, boldly extending his hand toward her. A silent truce. Her lips parted, exhaling a shocked breath.

Hesitantly, ever so gently, she grasped his hand, finally meeting his eye.

Under her soft skin, Draco felt the electric current of life, her pulse, her raw power. _Her magic._ "Your secret is safe with me," he murmured, staring down at her with what he hoped was the weight of the truth he felt.

As quickly as her heat had slipped under his skin, it was snatched away. Without further word, she stormed down the hall, wild curls bouncing against her slender shoulders. He peaked at her behind one last time.

_Ours_ , a voice filled his ears before he trudged toward the elderly assistant. One charming smile later, and tomorrow's appointment was his- not because he'd have all the paperwork ready, but because his wolf demanded he not go long without seeing her.

"You were on your best behavior, Father," Draco dryly stated as he exited the firm onto the street. "Your distaste of muggles was only _mostly_ on display."

Stern silver eyes bore into his skull, and Draco fought against the urge to look down. "Draco, what the _fuck_ was that? This was supposed to be a muggle firm. Who is the girl?"

"I don't know," Draco answered honestly, shoving his hands into his pockets. "Though, in my defense, I don't think she does either. She appears to have no knowledge of magic, though I believe she possesses it. She was quite shocked when I-"

"You used magic in front of her?" Lucius hissed, stopping abruptly to grab Draco's collar.

"Father, you're going to draw unnecessary attention to us." He peeled the other man's hands off his clothes and straightened his tie. "We have to add Hermione to the Manor wards so that she and I can-"

Lucius growled. "Do you think this is a game? I will not have some rogue werewolf distracting you from the task at hand. You will keep your cock in your trousers during the duration of this trial-"

"Excuse me?" Draco growled. Tiny blonde hairs on the back of his neck prickled awake.

"I smelled what was going on. Your arousal was practically dripping off you," Lucius sneered in disgust. "You will stay away from her unless it is related to the case. There is likely a reason she's alone. A squib, perhaps. Or worse...a mudblood turned werewolf."

Draco scoffed. "I'm simply curious, Father. You must admit she's intelligent-"

"She's obviously of poor breeding," Lucius countered venomously. "Should you want the option to keep your lakehouse," he stepped in closed, his voice a cool whisp against Draco's face, "I recommend you keep this relationship entirely _professional_. Do I make myself clear?"

His wolf heeled at the command. Draco might possess the blood of an alpha, but he was not yet strong enough to challenge his position within the Wiltshire pack.

Resisting the urge to growl, Draco simply turned his back and walked toward the apparition point in silence, cursing the sweet smell that lingered in his consciousness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: I can't promise I will ever update as quickly again (24-hour turnarounds are not feasible!), but I was too excited about this chapter to wait. I am trying to keep the characters fresh, but still IN character... if that makes sense. How am I doing?
> 
> Again, thank you all for the lovely encouragement :)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YOUR. REVIEWS. AHHH did they ever make me smile! Thank you to everyone for being so supportive of my first story. It’s really encouraging. This chapter was trickier to write (especially because chapter 2 is my favorite), but I do hope you enjoy it (especially the nice bit of banter between our favorite pair in the second part of the chapter). Just a reminder- this is a slowwwww burn. Feedback, constructive criticism, predictions, cries of outrage, and anything in between are always welcomed. 
> 
> Between updates, I have been posting snippets of future chapters, mood boards, and chapter inspiration on my Tumblr (Endless_musings). Check it out if you are interested. 
> 
> Until the next update, my loves. 
> 
> -EM

**Secrets of the Moon  
** _Chapter 3_

Hermione prodded the dark circles under her eyes gently with her fingertips and frowned at herself in the mirror. The sun had barely risen and already she wanted to curl back into her cozy bed and hibernate.

With a groan, she slathered on makeup to hide the evidence of her tumultuous sleep. Still, pressed powder was not enough to erase the blush-inducing images that lingered from her frenzied dreams; Muscled limbs wrapped around her. Lips trailing feather light kisses over soft skin. Nails scratching. Moonlight chases, and platinum hair reflecting the stars. Magic quivering in her veins.

Hermione shook her head to clear her thoughts. _Can wizards read minds?_ She wondered, thinking anxiously of her meeting with Draco as she stepped into her heels and added the final details to her outfit.

Grabbing her briefcase, Hermione paused when she saw her open notebook. Lists of questions scribbled hastily onto the lined paper stared up at her. Last night, after she had drowned in a bottle of wine, she wrote down everything she wanted to ask Draco about her peculiar abilities. Remarkably, he was the only other werewolf she had ever met, and she could not stop the questions from spilling onto the page. _How many of us are there? Do all wolves possess magic? Can I learn to control…._

Now, however, as she stared at her many questions, they taunted her. They reminded her of another note, one that was hidden deep in the back of her closet, entombed in a safe.

Her biological mother had taken only moments to write just a few sentences to her, hastily scribbled, like an afterthought. _Stay hidden_ , _and_ _safe_. The note included no information about who she was, or why she was orphaned. No name, nor birth date. Nothing else was important, simply: _Stay hidden, and safe._

Shoving her notes into the leather briefcase, she couldn't help but wonder if this was what her real mother was warning her against; A charming, wealthy man, with platinum hair, a sharp jawline, and penetrating silver eyes that seemed to really see her. Yet… Hermione massaged her temples and groaned.

Her curiosity was insatiable. But it was more than that. For the first time in her life, there was a possibility she wasn't alone, and the thought both terrified and electrified her. The magical outbursts and transformations she'd gone through entirely on her own were in many ways still haunting her. She always felt on the verge of chaos; never fully in control of herself.

 _We need him. A companion. A pack._ Her inner beast pleaded. _A teacher!_ Draco could answer her questions. The wild she observed in him was tightly contained, a wonderfully controlled fire staving off a snowstorm. And it called to her. During their entire meeting, her wolf had howled in her skull, begging her to stare back; _Make him yours._ Despite her fear of him, she craved surrendering to his gaze, and was nearly unable to resist her urge to breathe in his heady scent.

 _This could get us killed. We don't know him,_ Hermione chided her annoyingly present subconscious. _There is a reason my mother hid me._

Until she knew she could trust him, she decided her best course of action was to ignore the unnatural. She was quite good at it, what with her years of practice. Ignoring Draco, whom she guessed would not dare show himself in front of - what had he called them? - _muggles_ , couldn't possibly be more difficult than keeping her ability to turn into a wolf secret from her nosy mother. Hermione laughed to herself.

Her subconscious growled between her ears.

 _This is for the best,_ she conceded. _It's safest._

Roughly shoving her notebook into her bag, Hermione made her way to work.

* * *

By the time Hermione arrived at the law firm, her stomach was tied in knots and her mind was racing. The thought of sitting across from Draco made her so flustered in fact, that she nearly knocked her father over as she stormed down the hall to her office.

"Good morning, princess!" Her father greeted, gripping her shoulders to steady her. "I noticed on your calendar that you are meeting with the Malfoy boy today. Odd folks, aren't they?"

 _You have no idea_ , she bitterly thought, not bothering to give her father more than a half nod. _But then again, so am I._

Hermione kept her office cold; her body tended to run warmer than non-wolves. It also helped her from dozing when the hours stretched and the quiet became too stifling. Today though, with so much on her mind, Hermione paced restlessly, tidying up her already pristine office.

Some time later, a light tap of knuckles on solid wood broke her from her trance.

"Good morning, Hermione," Draco's low voice caressed her. "I brought you coffee and tea." He gracefully strolled into her office like he owned it, placing two paper cups on her desk. "I didn't know which you prefer, and-" he reached into the pocket of his suit jacket, "there are options for tea."

At the sight of the different packets - earl grey, green tea, and English breakfast- Hermione sucked her teeth. "I'd prefer if you call me Ms. Granger," she tartly replied, keeping her arms crossed. She didn't trust her wolf instincts, which were screaming at her to touch his skin. _This was going to be more challenging than she anticipated._

Looking at him with disdain, she noticed Draco's eyes pass coolly over the room before he assessed the open door. His eyes sparked devilishly, and he pulled out what she assumed was a wand.

A real wizard's wand. That he was waving. In her office.

The door gently clicked shut, and the paper cups moved seamlessly across the table toward her, all without the guidance of his touch.

Hermione's jaw went slack, and she muttered, "Oh, bloody hell." It was hard to ignore the tingle in her blood at the sight of magic.

Draco elegantly plopped into the leather sofa across from her desk. "Care to have a seat?" He proposed with a mischievous smile that could only be described as wicked.

Hermione inhaled deeply to calm herself and sat opposite him. "I know what you're doing, and I assure you it won't work with me."

Draco's eyes twinkled, and his lips quirked up in a way that made Hermione's heart flutter. "What is it that I'm doing?"

"You're provoking me into asking about our unfortunate meeting in the woods, and," Hermione waved her hand haphazardly towards the cups and the door, "I will not partake in talking about whatever _that_ was during our time together."

Draco frowned. "You're not even a little curious?"

 _Yes!_ _Please!_

"That's not the point," Hermione nearly hissed. "I've worked extremely hard to appear normal and I will not have some stranger jeopardize that. This is my place of work and I'd very much appreciate it if we remain on task." Hermione clicked the pen in her hand and pressed it to a piece of paper. "Now, do you have any property documents you wish to show me. I don't have all day."

"I know you don't, your secretary informed me of that yesterday," Draco commented dryly. "But I am yours for the next hour, Ms. Granger, and I am paying top dollar for your time." Again, he flicked his wand, and two scrolls of parchment seemed to appear from thin air.

Her lips pursed tightly at the marvelous display of magic, but she ignored it and gingerly grabbed the old documents. "You're paying me to discuss and review this case, nothing more, Mr. Malfoy."

The smell of old parchment elicited thoughts of forbidden libraries, and the elegant scrawl captivated her. She was very aware of Draco's steady heartbeat, and unwavering gaze. His crisp, masculine scent distracted her, and the parchment trembled between her fingers. He was so similar to his wolf; tall and lean, yet broad and capable. There was a majestic gracefulness in his movements, and his innate authority carried within the primal growl of his voice. His eyes sparkled with the same intelligence they had in the forest, restless in their analysis of everything around him.

"These documents are certainly…unusual," she said finally, unable to understand the old language. "Is this all you have?"

Draco moaned in frustration and tugged his hair. "You really have no desire to know?"

Hermione peered over the top of the parchment and met Draco's irritated glare. "Know what?"

"Know who you are," he demanded frostily. "Clearly Mr. Granger, _a human muggle_ , is not your real father. And clearly you've been hiding. Hell, you're a witch, and you act as though you've never seen magic."

"A... a witch?" Hermione stuttered with a sharp snort. "That's impossible."

"What's impossible is that you haven't literally exploded before now," he said in his most condescending tone. "I felt it yesterday, when you touched me. You're a witch, Ms. Granger."

"I am not," Hermione gritted out through bared teeth. A prodding in her mind reminded her she was lying only to herself. Hermione knew she was different, but she had never heard it vocalized before now. Her heart rate soared, and her frustration bubbled dangerously against her bones.

Draco leaned forward, placing his elbows on her desk. "Oh, but you are!" He scoffed. "And what's worse is that someone who seems so _intelligent-_ "

"Stop speaking-"

"-would be such a fool to deny her true self-"

 _He's trying to help us!_ Her subconscious pleaded loudly, deafeningly. _Listen_! _Listen_! _Liste-_

"Mr. Malfoy, enough of this utter nonse-"

"And for what? You're obviously differ-"

Hermione slammed her hands against the desk, "I am not a witch! And we will not discuss this any further!"

Several textbooks flew off her bookshelf and landed heavily on the floor with a resounding bang that rendered them silent, save for their labored breathing.

Draco's jaw relaxed after a moment, and his expression became unreadable. He slowly removed himself from her desk."Does that happen often?"

Hermione remained silent, focusing on subduing her heavy breathing. The thrumming of her heart and the fire in her veins caused her wolf to fully awaken, and she closed her eyes to calm her senses. _Breathe. In….out…_

Eyes still closed, she muttered, "It used to. I've learned to keep my emotions..." She shook her head rigidly.

Draco waited patiently for her, and when she finally opened her eyes, his sympathetic gaze was filled with a mixture of wonder and worry.

"When I was a young child," he slowly whispered, "my mother took my broom away after I chased a house-elf with it, and I was so furious," he chuckled with a faint smile, "I caught her hideous 16th-century curtains on fire. It was then I learned the importance of emotional control for people like us."

Hermione's cheeks burned, but her heart clung onto every word Draco was speaking. _Us. People like us._ "I've never met anyone who was like me before."

Draco sat in silence for a moment, unable to form words, and Hermione could see, in the wrinkles forming between his brow, the pain that momentarily radiated through him.

"Don't," she demanded.

"Don't what?"

"Pity me. Do I look as though things turned out horribly for me?"

"No, but there is a whole piece of your life that you are not living," Draco exclaimed, exasperated at her cool demeanor, and unwillingness to learn more.

Hermione clicked her tongue. "I wouldn't know."

"Wolves need a pack. We need protection. How have you managed, all these years?" His eyes widened suddenly. "Your first transformation, were you alone?"

"What do you think?" Hermione sarcastically replied.

Draco opened and closed his mouth several times, thoroughly flabbergasted.

 _Just great_ , Hermione thought. _He thinks I'm a freak._

"Listen, just forget it, Draco. Our meeting is nearly half over, and we haven't discussed the case. You already think I've failed at my life. I will not fail at my job as well." She cleared her throat. "Now, tell me more about the deed to your estate."

"Hermione, I-"

She lifted a delicate finger and glared fiercely. "Not another word, or I'll end this meeting."

Draco hummed a note of displeasure through his clenched jaw. "Fine. But we _will_ talk about this at some point." Hermione shivered at the promise, and she briefly remembered the unyielding snowy wolf she had met in the forest

" _Ms. Granger,_ " her name rolled off his tongue, "there are some things I didn't want to discuss in front of your father. A family friend of ours, and our neighbors, the Nott's, were recently forced into selling a large portion of their land for government use as well."

"To build the pipeline?"

"That's what they were told," Draco frowned. "But not even three months later, there is new construction already developing on the land, and access is limited. To my knowledge, it would be illegal for them to begin a project like this without having purchased all the land they need."

Hermione brought her finger to her mouth. "It's not illegal, per se, though it would indicate they feel your land is as good as sold. How do you know about the construction if access is restricted?"

"It's safest to access it in wolf form, to avoid detection. On the night of the full moon, I'll show you."

"That's not until next week. Are you available sooner?"

Draco's eyebrows pulled into the center of his forehead. "Not in a way that is inconspicuous, no."

"What do you mean?" Hermione questioned before she could stop the words from slipping off her tongue.

"What do _you_ mean?"

Hermione remained silent and dropped her gaze. Embarrassment coloured her cheeks. This meeting would not answer her questions; in fact, it made her feel even more peculiar.

Draco's jaw fell open in realization. "Can you change at… at will?"

"Can't you?"

"No. No one that I know of can."

A heavy despair cascaded down into her chest and she sank lower in her chair. She was seated across from a goddamn werewolf wizard and she still felt like the freak.

"Oh," she whispered. Draco's expression of awe only made her more uncomfortable, like a sideshow at a circus. With his eyes so intently focused on her, she felt vulnerable, ugly compared to his biting perfection.

Despite Hermione's feelings of misery, Draco beamed in admiration. "I think you're a shifter- my mother was telling me about your kind but...there haven't been any alive for centuries."

"I see," Hermione choked. There were more questions stirring within than ever, but she doubted whether even Draco could answer them now. A familiar loneliness gripped her heart, and she swallowed the growing bubble of air pressing against the back of her throat. Tutting her tongue, she huffed, "Well, anyway, it's none of my concern, now is it? That isn't the world I belong to."

"Of course it is," Draco replied, tilting his head to catch her eyes. "It's your history."

They sat in silence for a moment, and Hermione twisted her pen between her fingers.

"Can I see you on the night of the full moon?" Draco tentatively asked.

 _Yes_! Her mind screamed at her. _It's our chance to learn who we are!_ Hermione bit her lip to keep her wolf at bay.

"Strictly business, of course," he said holding up his hands. "I want you to tour the boundaries of my land, and if there is time, we can inspect the Nott property."

 _For the case. For us!_ _Please, please, please…_ She couldn't think straight under the incessant bombardment of thoughts and the tug of curiosity that overwhelmed her burdened heart.

"Alright, I'll consider it," Hermione stated cautiously. "But I warn you, I'm not above biting should I need to. And...well, I've never shifted around another," she admitted quietly.

Hermione observed Draco's cool demeanor slip for just a moment; that dreaded pity flickered across the smooth plane of his mask.

Draco shook his head slowly, contemplating. "What if we start with dinner first? At the Manor. You can see the _wonders_ of magic. And we will discuss the case, of course."

"Dinner? Alone at your… Manor?"

"My family's Manor, but yes." He looked sly, as though he'd just won a round of chess. "I need you to trust me before you have claws. Besides, it'd be an entirely secret affair, that you could keep to you-"

She groaned. "Keep to myself, right," Hermione repeated his words from yesterday. "Have you never watched documentaries? Or the news? If I wanted to get kidnapped, or worse, that's how you'd do it. Lure me to your beautiful _Manor_ , cook me dinner, and then you'd poison me and bury my body in your backyard, and no one would be the wiser, because I decided to go to dinner with a stranger at his Manor and _keep it to myself_."

Draco hid a smirk behind his fingers, grey eyes radiant. "Documentaries?"

"You know, serial killer dramas - like on the telly? Or Netflix?"

"Net-what? No, I can't say I've seen any." Draco crossed his legs and leaned back, a beautiful statue of devilish beguilement. "Though, you have a few things wrong. First, I wouldn't cook for you - our house elf will take care of that. Second, if I really wanted to kill you, I would not use poison... it's far too messy. Third, I'd never bury you in my backyard. I'd simply disappear your body, or transform it into a pebble and toss it in the woods."

Hermione's lip twitched, and she struggled to keep her glare in place. Her ego was ignited at his teasing. "A pebble? That's the best your magic can do?"

Draco laughed and Hermione felt warm chills caress her body at the melodic sound.

"Ms. Granger, I can't kill you. I need you to win this case, remember?" He taunted with a wink. "Please, will you join me for dinner?"

 _Run with him. Chase him in the moonlight._ Her blood was pulsing with craving, singing for her to give in to Draco's request.

She sighed, torn by the one-sided promise she had with her long-gone biological mother. _Stay hidden, and safe._ Yet, the burden she held alone felt too heavy for her to carry anymore, now that she had a taste of what could be. "I don't kn-"

"You can charge me if you'd like," Draco waved his hand nonchalantly. "It'd be a perfect opportunity for you to study our land deeds and maps. I promise you'll be safe."

"When?" Hermione yielded.

"Does Thursday night work? I'll pick you up around 5 o'clock and escort you to the Manor."

Her eyes narrowed. "No, no. You will do no such thing."

"There is no other way onto the Malfoy Estate otherwise, unfortunately."

Now she was truly curious, and she chewed her bottom lip. "How is that possible?"

Draco simply shook his head and gave a knowing smile that roused her body.

 _Trust him_ , her lonely wolf cried. Hermione stared into his eyes, and there she found raw strength and ice, holding in a dangerous fire. But she also found tender edges and an honest curiosity that she had only ever seen before when she looked in the mirror.

"Write down your address," he commanded.

With hesitation, Hermione ripped off a piece of notebook paper and against her better judgment, wrote away her safe haven in the name of curiosity, in her quest to discover who she was. Even she did not have the mental fortitude to ignore the intensity of her own inquisitiveness. "I still don't understand -"

"You'll see Thursday night, _Ms. Granger_." Draco grinned, standing from his chair. His smoldering grey stare never broke from hers as he grabbed the small piece of paper from her fingers, warm skin brushing her faintly. He waved his wand and conjured the parchments off her desk. Hermione watched as he buttoned his suit jacket, and smoothed the edges of his hair back into place from where he had ruffled them in his frustration with her. His hair looked tantalizingly soft... Hermione finally forced herself to look away.

"Oh, one last thing," Draco paused at the door. "Do you happen to have a fireplace?"

* * *

Later that night, Draco loosened his tie and threw his suit jacket on the green leather chaise in his private study; long legs carried him quickly across the opulent room, toward the gilded fireplace. There, he sank into the sofa facing the flames and groaned. Despite what he felt was relative progress with the captivating she-wolf, he now had bigger challenges to tackle.

Hermione was a shifter; so rare they had not been seen for centuries. Worse still, according to the brief conversation he'd had with his mother, shifters were persecuted into extinction. Or, so everyone had believed.

 _Someone went through great lengths to conceal her_ , Draco thought.

Sighing, he conjured a firewhiskey and took a long sip. It could be dangerous for Hermione to reveal herself as a shifter to anyone. There was the possibility of her execution, or, the potential for a stronger wizard to use her unique abilities to their advantage. Her reluctance to share her secret was likely the only thing that had kept her out of harm's way all these years.

 _All alone. With no pack. Isolated,_ his subconscious growled. She had no experience with her own kind, and Draco knew that if she were revealed in the wrong way, or to the wrong people, she could be hunted like her ancestors before her.

Draco tugged his hair in exasperation.

Then, there was the conundrum of her dangerously uncontrolled magic. How could he possibly begin to teach her to reign in her power if she had no wand? Even if he could somehow manage to secure an unregistered wand - which as an ex-death eater, was just begging for a trip to Azkaban - he'd be setting her up to be a criminal before she'd even have a fair shot at truly living amongst the wizarding community. As an unregistered witch, she'd have to continue her existence in secret.

 _Which is no different than she is now,_ Draco thought angrily. But that's not what he wanted for her. He wanted her to be beside him, a pack member. _And mate_ , his wolf added.

One thing was clear to Draco, as he drowned in the last drops of his firewhiskey, he'd need help. Someone he could trust. Someone who wouldn't take advantage of the situation for personal gain. It certainly couldn't be another werewolf - that was too risky given Hermione's lack of pack. No, it had to be someone powerful enough to secure her a wand legally, while also being trustworthy enough to keep her existence secret for the time being. Someone who had an in with the Ministry.

He bared his teeth and groaned.

 _Someone like Potter_.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> *Peaks out from around the corner...Flings out chapter and screams apologies*
> 
> I want to thank you all for being so patient with this update! My life has been uprooted by COVID-19 - in two weeks I've had to become an online teacher. It's been a wild ride that was harder and stranger than expected, and it took all of my energy. I'm wishing you each safety and health.
> 
> I CAN'T THANK YOU ENOUGH FOR YOUR SUPPORT AND REVIEWS. They complete me and bring me unending happiness. So thank you. Seriously. As always - reviews, comments, critiques, cries of anger and everything in between are appreciated. Follow me on Tumblr (Endless_musings) for some fun aesthetics and updates.
> 
> NOW to the good part. This chapter kicked my ass and I'm sorry about the length, but it's done and I hope it brings you joy. I'm really really really REALLY excited for Chapter 5, and it should be out late next week (fingers crossed!)
> 
> Until next time  
> -Endless_musings

**Secrets of the Moon**  
_Chapter 4_

Draco apparated onto Hermione's front lawn fifteen minutes earlier than their scheduled meeting time. He bounded up the porch stairs and inhaled deeply; Hermione's inviting scent was steeped into the property like a deliciously aged wine barrel. The tension that had pulled at his ribs since their last meeting instantly settled to a dull ache.

The cabin was quaint - a stacked log exterior with red shutters - barely visible under the ancient canopy of dying autumn leaves. It was a far cry from the modern law office in London, but he preferred this. Draco breathed in the enticing scent again and felt peace lull his pounding heart.

 _Imagine being wrapped in this delicious-_ He could no longer distinguish his wolf's whispered desires from his own. He swallowed a gulp of air as he loosened the collar of his shirt.

Before he could knock on the door, it swung open, revealing a petite woman with pursed lips and wild curls that cascaded over her shoulder.

"You're early." Hermione folded her arms stiffly across her chest, a flush creeping up her neck.

Draco dragged his stare over her peculiar attire - a thin, oversized shirt covered in paint stains, and flannel bottoms. A smirk threatened his lips. "Not that early."

"I'm only running a few minutes behind," she muttered, craning her neck to peek around his broad chest. She frowned at the empty dirt driveway. "How did you get here?"

"Magic," Draco arrogantly drawled, barely containing his mirth.

When her eyes caught his again, he could nearly read the questions collecting in her mind. His eyes lingered on her parted lips and exhaled shock.

 _The girl craves you too,_ his wolf cooed. Draco held his breath in an attempt to stop the assault of her scent on his subconscious.

The silence stretched thin between them, and he cleared his throat. "Would you like me to wait outside while you finish getting ready...unless that's what you're wearing?"

"No, no," she said with a bashful shake of her head. "Please come in, I'll only be a few more moments."

Seeing the alluring glow of her cheeks, and hearing the quivering of her heart, Draco had to slow his impatient legs from chasing her over the threshold.

The inside of the cabin felt like an extension of the woods; cluttered yet calming. Mismatched furniture was haphazardly strewn across the living area, and no surface lacked a stack of books or several. Plants adorned the space in all forms; hanging vines stretched across windows, and sleepy willows spilled out of painted clay pots. It was all at once distinctly cozy in its madness, yet clean.

Hermione fidgeted, wringing her hands as she silently observed his roaming eyes, darkened and animalistic, which eventually landed back upon her.

"Your home is different than I imagined."

"What were you expecting?"

Draco leaned against a wooden beam that divided the living room and tilted his head in contemplation. He took pleasure in the languid way her eyes traveled the length of his body. "Your office is ordered, pristine...much like how you portray yourself," he analyzed. "Yet this," his hand waved haphazardly toward the overgrowth of plants and books, "is uncontained. It's warm and alive."

She shifted her weight, a lovely flush inching up her neckline. "It's the only place I've ever felt at home."

The admission was soft, yet bitter around the edges as it swept into Draco's consciousness. Whatever emotion she saw leak onto his face made her wince; her expressive features suddenly became aloof, and she squared her shoulders. In a room full of such life, she'd managed to go dead cold.

 _She's a natural Occlumens,_ his subconscious groaned. _See how annoying that is?_

Draco swallowed his wolf's growl and fought the urge to roll his eyes. _Not nearly as annoying as you._

From the sight of her rigid posture and hardened eyes, he knew he'd get no more from her. "You should finish getting dressed," he dryly commanded.

Once she had left the room, he took the opportunity to look at each book on her many shelves -history, thrillers, old muggle literature - and to gaze out upon the uninhibited view of the woods behind her cabin. The scent by the oversized windows was stronger than anywhere else, and he pictured her curled up on the sill with a book, bathing in the moonlight as it filtered through the trees. His fingers traced the sill and he took one final breath before turning to take a seat on the worn couch in the middle of the room.

Laid out on the coffee table was a small letter, neatly printed in black ink. Draco picked up the oddly placed note.

_To whoever reads this note,_

_On Thursday, October the 4th, I, Hermione Granger, am attending a meeting with my client, one Mr. Draco Malfoy of Wiltshire, at his private residence. Should I not return…_

Draco scanned it, keeping a finger pressed to his lips to contain the laugh that threatened to escape. As if a note could lead anyone to him if he wanted to hide her away for himself. Silly woman.

Hermione interrupted a moment later, looking decidedly flustered. His cool eyes heated as they traveled over the simple black dress that hugged her body and left her neck exposed. Draco determined he had a new appreciation for muggle clothing; Her shoulders were draped in a long grey sweater that grazed her knees and she wore heeled grey boots that cut off at her ankles.

"So," Hermione said stiffly, breaking his gaze from where it had landed on her exposed legs, "how do we get to your Manor."

He stood from the couch, note in hand.

Draco relished the way her eyes widened at the sight of the letter, and her cheeks turned fiery red. "Is this supposed to deter me from kidnapping you?"

Hermione walked over and snatched the letter from his fingers. "I'm a lawyer. I'd be considered an absolute idiot if I vanished without a trace."

He could no longer contain his amusement, and his pale brows lifted in condescension. "Yes, because being considered an idiot should be your greatest concern in that scenario."

"I'm being cautious," she said tartly.

"There's nothing to fear - I have no choice but to return you home. My mother would be absolutely furious if I kidnapped a woman out of wedlock."

Hermione rolled her eyes at his sarcasm, and carefully placed the note back upon the table. "You haven't told me how we're getting to your home yet."

Reaching into his pocket, Draco produced a velvet bag. "This is floo powder. It helps wizards travel between fireplaces. All you need to do is throw the powder into your hearth, shout out your destination and," he snapped his fingers, "you'll be transported wherever your heart desires."

"Like...teleporting?" Hermione uttered in disbelief.

Draco smirked to mask his laugh. "Err, not quite. Don't concern yourself with the how yet."

She stared tentatively at her fireplace. It looked unassuming, a plain wooden hearth covered in fresh soot. "You mean to tell me that all this time I could have traveled anywhere I wanted...using my fireplace?"

Draco could not hide the second chuckle as he leaned in closer. "Sadly, no. I'm fortunate to have a useful contact on the Floo Regulation Board. She's a family pack member who owes me a favor and she is going to ignore this unregulated connection for the time being, until I can figure out a way to make it more permanent. It will make travel between us more efficient while you learn how to use your magic."

Hermione ran her tongue along her teeth from beneath pursed lips and crossed her arms. "That's assuming I agree to learn magic."

He ignored her, making a show of vanishing the soot in her fireplace and opening the Floo. Once or twice he caught her wide-eyed and jaw slackened, and he was barely able to keep his wolf at bay. Had he known her better he would have made a rude comment about the way her eyes were mesmerized by his wand, or how he wished it was his lip between her teeth.

With the floo prepared, Draco unleashed a wicked smile and approached her. He bent his mouth to her ear, as though sharing a great secret. "Of course you'll learn. You're much too curious." Barely grazing her skin, he tilted her chin up so their eyes were forced to lock; copper and ice hunting for something in one another. "I'm the only person you know who has the answers you need."

Hermione broke his gaze after a long moment and looked at the fireplace distrustfully. "Curiosity is going to get me killed."

"Curiosity kills cats, not wolves." He grinned mischievously. "Are you ready to go?"

Fresh adrenaline flooded the air. A storm appeared on Hermione's face as she put distance between them.

 _She's afraid_ , his wolf sniffed in disdain.

Draco assessed the fear she was having trouble concealing. Her nails dug into the palm of her hands, and he could smell the blood pooling beneath her claws. If he commanded her to follow, she would. He was an alpha, after all. One look, a sharp order growled against her neck and she'd go wherever he demanded.

But her weary eyes made him hesitate. He needed her trust. He was not about to let her slip through his fingers. Not again.

Instead, Draco ran a hand through his hair and asked, "Why are you scared?"

Her eyes flashed. "I'm not."

The alpha within him bristled. "You can't lie to me, I can smell it."

She shuddered and cautiously peeked at the fireplace again. "You're right about my being insatiably curious. I'm afraid that if I follow you, there is no returning from this path."

"You always have a choice," he murmured words of wisdom heard in a past life, words he once should have followed.

"It'll be difficult to live in this world once I see it can be so much more."

"You've already been living in that world." He opened the small velvet bag and poured the powder into his palm. "All you're deciding now is whether you want it to remain that way."

Draco saw the war in her clenched jaw, the gears in her mind frantically cranking out scenarios and weighing her options. But the indecision still remained behind her uneasy gaze.

 _Convince her,_ his wolf decried between his ears.

"Once you learn control, magic is yours to choose what you wish with it; you can use it or not. That's the real beauty of it."

Her eyes softened ever so slightly.

_Just a bit further._

"You'll be safe with me," Draco promised. "But, I understand if you want me to leave."

The sweet smell of desire finally overpowered the lingering fear. Her tense jaw eased in response to his gentle words.

"I don't know which will kill me first, you or the magic," Hermione begrudgingly muttered.

He barked a hearty laugh and offered his arm, pleased with his victory. "It will most certainly be the magic."

Her tentative touch warmed every fiber in his body as they stepped toward the hearth.

"Don't let go. Don't fidget. Keep your elbows tucked. Close your eyes. And whatever you do, don't panic," he demanded sternly.

Small fingers tightened around his arm and she anxiously pressed her body into his side. The banging of her heart ceased to be heard as she held her breath.

He threw the powder down by their feet and shouted, " _To Malfoy Manor_!"

* * *

At some point during the dizzying transport, Hermione wrapped her body around Draco's and clung to him like her life depended upon it.

What Hermione did not know was that this would make their landing nearly impossible.

They were thrown out of the fire with force, limbs tangled, wild curls choking them, all while Draco tried to right their bodies. He only partly succeeded; he landed on his arse with her strewn clumsily across his lap.

"You panicked," Draco grumbled in her ear, pushing himself out from under her as gracefully as their position allowed. Still, his hand brushed the soft skin behind her knee, and his neck was so close that Hermione could smell his minty aftershave and the musky scent of pinewood.

Her eyes were squeezed shut, fingers still trembling as they released his sturdy arm. She blew air through pursed lips. "I don't think I like magic."

Even without seeing, she could feel the aura of Draco's confident smirk as he lifted her off the floor in a show of his effortless strength. She breathed in and was enveloped by his intoxicating scent. The warmth of his fingertips lingered well after he released her.

Steadying herself, she finally opened her eyes. The air in her lungs left her chest with a gasp.

"This is where you live?" Hermione stuttered, looking up at the copper-plated ceiling and grandiose chandelier.

The walls were covered in dark green wallpaper, overlaid with a faint gold filigree. A luxurious Persian carpet covered black wood floors. Most shocking were the…well, she didn't know what to call them exactly. On his desk lay a series of peculiar objects; one was a gold spinning top, another a round mirror where shadows lurked instead of reflections. Kept in the many glass cabinets hung ornate masks, some shifting expressions on their own, and the skulls of animals she could not identify. A lizard with fangs? Perhaps a snake?

Everywhere she turned there was more to discover. Her impulsive journey around the room was marked by her gasps of intrigue, but he never interrupted, despite how invasive her prodding became. No trinket was left unobserved and she'd nearly forgotten his presence at the sight of his bookshelves.

"Are there more rooms like this?" She asked in bewilderment.

"Yes. We're in my wing of the Manor. This is my private study." Draco smirked at the sight of her parted lips. "The Malfoy family is well established. We can be traced back to some of the first wizards in history, and we've accumulated many precious artefacts in that time."

"I see." Hermione bent her face down next to a crystal ball, startled when it suddenly turned bright red.

Draco rolled up his sleeves and walked over to his desk. "I imagine you have questions."

She dragged herself away from the books, following him. "A great many. I don't think you thought through the consequences of bringing a lawyer here."

Draco grinned. "On the contrary, I've thought about it a lot."

Despite the flip in her stomach at his jest, she chose to ignore the hidden intensity behind his words. Instead, she focused on watching him rifle through his desk drawers, removing parchments and scrolls.

On the pale skin of his wrist, she noticed what looked to be a faded brand. "What's that?" she nudged his arm, curious about the malicious looking black skull.

The muscles of his face tightened so that the sharp angles of his jaw became prominent. "A mistake," he harshly whispered without looking up from the map he was unfurling.

"I didn't take you for the tattoo type," she attempted to joke, confused by his sudden shift in mood.

"I'm not." His tone indicated he would say no more on the matter. "These are the original boundaries of our property. We've expanded over the years. "

He passed her a piece of parchment that she recognized as a nearly ancient deed.

"To keep muggles from becoming aware of our presence, we have protective magic surrounding the property, but it's still difficult to hide on a map given how many hectares the land spans."

Hermione looked at the dates scrawled on the deeds and compared it to the map. "Shit," she muttered. "You weren't lying when you said you had been here a long time."

There was a lingering hardness to his eyes, but he nodded lightly. His gaze turned toward the map before them.

"Here are the Malfoy family burial grounds." She followed his gaze a few inches lower. "That's the Nott family property, and," his long finger skimmed across the yellowing paper, "here is where you live. You're quite close to both of our lands. It's a mystery how no one found you sooner."

Hermione frowned. "My parents moved us to the city when I was twelve. I only had the chance to run in these woods during summer holidays."

Grey eyes descended upon her face."Why would they move you away from a safe place to shift?"

 _Because they didn't know,_ her wolf reared her sass. _Because you're too much of a coward to tell-_

"It's complicated," Hermione muttered, cutting off her inner monologue. It was a fight that happened often between herself and her animal conscience. But, her decision was final. If she were to ever be truly alone in this world, she didn't know how she would cope. Better to have people to love and be loved by, than live an even lonelier existence.

Draco stopped fiddling with the edges of the map and simply stared at her. His piercing eyes could see through her. She was certain. And, in the building tension of their awkward silence, she unwittingly felt the urge to spill her secrets.

"They don't worry about my shifting because they don't know," Hermione whispered. She gave him a sharp look. "And it will remain that way."

"How is that even possible?" He replied in astonishment.

She shrugged. "I'd wait until the middle of the night and escape into the forest. I didn't have much control back then." A coy smile pulled at her lips, thinking of all the secret trouble she'd gotten into. "I didn't shift much in my teenage years."

"But that's when you're supposed to!" Draco sputtered. "How do you have a relationship with yourself if you force more than half of it into hiding?"

 _He's right,_ her wolf insisted scornfully. _The man is smarter than y-_

"Are there other packs?" She shifted her gaze back down to the map.

A dark chuckle passed his lips. "I was raised in the art of changing subjects, you're not going to avoid this easily," he taunted.

"You'll learn there is nothing that will get me to answer your question if I don't want to," she said haughtily.

"Your stubbornness won't stop me. I'll find out eventually," Draco warned, and he released a frustrated sigh. "To answer your question, there are other packs. Ours is made up of ancient wizarding families who have passed down the lycanthropy virus for generations, manipulating it and fine-tuning out undesirable traits. Because of this, many see us as a superior kind of werewolf. We're better able to retain our humanity and have control when we turn."

"So," Hermione paused in thought, "there are werewolves who have less control?"

"Precisely. The lycanthropy virus is typically passed when a witch or wizard is bitten by a werewolf during the full moon. The original strain of the virus is unpredictable. There is almost no control over the beast inside, and leading up to the transformation each month, most feel ill and weak."

She chewed her lip in contemplation. "So, your pack is bitten by someone with a superior strain of the virus?"

"Members of the Wiltshire pack aren't bitten, we're injected with our families unique strain. The Malfoy strain is only passed to those who share our blood. Each family differs slightly in potency, but the level of control is essentially the same. It's why it was shocking for me to see you...an in control werewolf of unknown origin, roaming alone." One side of his lip quirked upward. "And female no less."

She sucked her teeth to keep from wincing."There aren't female werewolves?"

She noticed his features become sharp again, pinched in an icy stillness that gave off an air of animalistic elegance. "Amongst the Wiltshire pack it is very rare. The only female wolf I ever knew of was my aunt. In our society, being a werewolf is considered a man's duty."

 _Just one more thing that's abnormal about me,_ Hermione thought bitterly. She trained her face to remain impassive. "Are there female werewolves outside of the Wiltshire pack?"

"Some." Unaware of her discomfort, Draco pointed to another area on the map. "Most other werewolves live here. Wizarding society considers them as lesser breeds, due to their unpredictable nature. They keep to themselves and wizards and witches maintain distance, for fear of getting the virus."

She gnashed her teeth."That's unjust."

"They're dangerous."

Straightening her shoulders, she proclaimed, "We can be just as deadly, I'm sure. It's not equitable for an entire society to group werewolves into tiers based on what happens one night a month."

"No, I suppose not," he admitted begrudgingly. "It's the way things have always been."

"That doesn't make it fair." She sighed, looking back down at the maps. There were so many other questions she had, but where to start? Sifting through the aged documents, her stomach released a groan.

Draco's lips turned downward. "You're hungry," he said gravely at the sound of her rumbling stomach.

At his severe tone, she laughed, unable to keep her lips from turning into a smile that met the corners of her eyes. "You say that like I'm about to drop dead. I'm fine, really."

"I'll call for dinner," he said firmly. "I promised to take care of you. We'll eat in my study for tonight. It's more private than the dining room."

"I'm not too hungry," she countered, running her fingers longingly over the map. "I want to keep learning. What about the land divisions? How was that decided?"

"You know I can't teach you everything in one night," Draco deadpanned.

She shot him a scathing look. The night was far from over, and dinner could wait if it meant prolonging her acquisition of knowledge.

"Tibly!" Draco called gently, ignoring her glare.

A small creature appeared, with ears far too large for her frame, wearing a tutu and socks. She smiled fondly up at Draco. "Yes, Master Draco?"

"Oh!" Hermione squeaked in surprise. Crouching down to face the odd-looking creature, she grinned. "I'm Hermione Granger, it's a pleasure."

Eagerly, she stuck out her hand.

Tibly merely considered it with narrowed, cautious eyes. "Er, hello Miss. I'm Tibly. Master-"

"Tibly, please send up dinner," Draco interrupted. "Our guest is hungry."

"Yes, sir!" With a snap of her fingers and a loud pop, she was gone.

Hermione, still crouched, was unable to form words. "What was… is she… _Master_?"

Just then the feast appeared on the table. Every assortment of fresh greens and cooked meats - perfectly rare, as werewolves prefer - were elegantly presented. A bottle of wine, considerably older than any she had seen before, sat between two burning candles.

Her jaw dropped ungracefully. She blinked her eyes, once, then twice, just to be sure she was actually seeing correctly.

A deep laugh broke her stupor and she turned to Draco seeking answers. She was struck by the radiance of his playful gaze, which until then she had never seen. This lighthearted side of the Draco, the one whose eyes were crinkled with uncontained joy, gave her pause. Like herself, she realized he wore a cool mask, strategically placed so as to be hidden in plain view.

What does he have to hide, she wondered, surrounded by extravagance and magic as he was.

He placed a sturdy hand on the small of her back, eyes still shining magnificently, and guided her forward. "Questions?"

* * *

After dinner, which included a rather heated debate about Tibly's use of the word 'Master', Draco conceded to giving Hermione a quick tour of his wing of the manor halls; her questions had been voracious, one after another after another, and he'd barely gotten a bite of food in.

Showing Hermione his home, he learned that her wonder was contagious. The mansion, usually cast in darkness, seemed brighter through her inquisitive gaze. His wolf took pride in each whisper of awe he tempted from her mouth, devouring every new expression she fed him.

She was most enamored by the moving paintings, many of which he secretly silenced, for fear their disdainful frowns would speak ill to his guest. When she reached out to touch the painting of his pure-blood fanatic great-Aunt Mildred, his fingers darted to wrap around hers and he protectively pulled her toward his chest.

"You really don't want to do that," he whispered into her hair. Draco felt the shiver of her skin and the increase of her pulse. So close to the full moon as it were, he nearly groaned at how responsive she felt beneath his fingers and he had trouble letting go of her dainty wrist.

When at last their tour brought them back to his study, Draco walked over to one of the bookshelves with a knowing smile.

"I saved the best for last," he said in a low tone that stoked the flame of her curiosity.

Pointing his wand at the shelves he muttered, _Revelio._

The books rearranged themselves slowly, like blocks, turning and twisting until finally, an iron door was visible.

"Open it," he commanded.

Hermione reached for the handle of the door without hesitation. Her ensuing gasp as she walked through the passage was one he was certain he'd hear again in his dreams tonight.

The hidden library that existed in his study was one of his most precious possessions. Barely anyone in his life had actually seen it. Even fewer knew of its existence. It was all his; a place he learned his love for reading, a place he practiced charms in secret while on summer holiday from Hogwarts, a place he cried when he learned he was to be a Death Eater, a place he sheltered himself when the Dark Lord was living in his house. It was pure electricity in his veins to see her walk into a place that was so intimately his.

Hermione boldly walked toward the stacks, like a caged bird released after a long winter. As soon as her fingers delicately connected with the first book, she let out a melodic laugh.

"Draco, this is exquisite," she breathed. When she looked back at him, her eyes were molten, bright and glowing.

Rarely, if ever, did Draco feel the muscles of his face pull upward so strongly that the skin around his eyes crinkled and his pearly teeth showed. But, seeing her ardor, he felt the unfamiliar stretch of his lips.

Draco leaned against the shelves, watching the sinful dance of her fingers across the spine of each book. The way her scent mixed with his and filled the study made his stomach tighten in pleasure.

"I recommend this one." He pulled on a rather large book and gently eased it off the shelf. "It'll teach you some of the history of shifters. They were notoriously mysterious, so there isn't much information, but this is a start."

He held it out to her, expecting her to take it, but the spark in her eyes abruptly faded.

The lip caught between her teeth was practically bleeding by the time Draco asked, "You don't want it?"

Hermione sighed and turned toward the books filled with wonders she had never known existed; A whole world ready to be devoured and explored, if only she'd let go of her reservations.

"I..." she groaned and her eyebrows pulled downward. "I want to learn."

"Then what's the problem?" He asked impatiently.

Draco saw the small hairs on her arms rise in time to the increased pounding in her chest. The scent of fear bled into the room.

"It's dangerous," she whispered.

"Aren't all the best things in life?" He smirked, but her face remained stern. "Why are you drawing the line here, with this book? You've spent all night asking every question imaginable."

"There are no shifters left, and while I don't know much, I know that doesn't just happen by accident. I've always wanted to understand myself, but you must realize the danger."

Draco tilted his head in thought. "That's why you ran the night I found you."

"I'd never met another werewolf and you were larger, commanding." Hermione shivered. He reminded himself that her words were not to be used as a boost to his ego.

"The only guidance I've ever had is from my biological mother. She wrote me a note before she left me at the orphanage. It warns I should remain hidden, so that's what I've always done. Taking your books, actually practicing magic, it feels like betrayal, and... I just..." Her wavering voice trailed off, and she shook her head sadly.

"You can't live like this forever. It's a half-life. It's unsafe to have so little control over your power."

"I have control," she said harshly.

"Until you don't, and books are flying in your anger," Draco argued.

Hermione flushed. "That doesn't happen often."

Draco removed his wand from his pocket and held it out to her. "I want you to feel something. Grab my wand."

Her lips pursed in surprise, and her cheeks turned rosy. "Excuse me?"

He rolled his eyes. "Humor me for a moment."

With apprehension, she reached for the wand, fingers hovering a moment before they clasped the unassuming piece of wood.

The air immediately turned electric, and Hermione's eyes widened. He heard her blood humming in fervor.

"Can't you feel it? You're more powerful than you realize. You must let me teach you," Draco begged.

"I don't know," she murmured, but her eyes never left the wand between her fingers.

"There is a man who works at the Ministry of Magic-" he saw her face fill with questions and he was again caught off guard by just how much she didn't know. "The Ministry of Magic is the structure that regulates the wizarding world."

She nodded in understanding and he continued. "Anyway, I believe a man who works there, Harry Potter, will help you secure a wand without revealing your identity yet."

Her face tightened with concern."And you trust this… _Harry_ fellow?"

"To be honest we have a complicated history," he winced, "which is exactly why I trust him. He's infuriatingly drawn to doing the right thing at all costs, and he's an honest man. He's helped me in the past," Draco finished tartly, watching the glow of curiosity light Hermione's face. "I am asking your permission to set a meeting with him."

"And he'll give me a wand?"

"Something like that," he muttered. Seeing Olivander was going to be another challenge he'd have to sort out, but she needn't be aware of the details quite yet.

"Why can't I just learn with yours?" She innocently asked, twirling his wand between her fingers.

The sight made his stomach flip, and he nearly forgot how to speak. "A wand chooses a witch or wizard. It bonds with you, in a way. You'd be hindered by mine."

He took his wand from her, brushing her palm with his fingers as he did so. "You know what you want to do."

When he saw the small nod of her head in agreement, he grinned. "I'll contact Harry. In the meantime," he reached around her, "there are some books I want you to begin reading."

She followed him around the library as he grabbed for books, some rich and leather-bound, others dusty and unassuming. With each added tome, her eyes grew hungrier. Soon, her arms were filled.

As they stepped into the fireplace, his fingers wrapped around her arm, Draco suddenly felt his own tinge of fear.

Though Hermione had spoken of her reservations about following a path with no return, it was he who suddenly worried; his life would no longer be enough without her in it. His wolf craved her- a disastrous reality given his father had practically forbidden him from pursuing her.

But there was no return for him. That much he knew.

Even worse, with her introduction to wizarding society - her insatiable need to consume information - she'd eventually learn about the dark side of magic; the wars fought over blood purity, fanatics and Death Eaters alike.

He threw the floo powder at his feet.

_Will she stay, once she learns who I am?_


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow am I floored by all the feedback and support I've been getting on this story. I honestly don't know what to say - I appreciate it more than anyone could ever know. I am BEYOND excited to share this chapter.
> 
> I want to give ENDLESS alpha/beta love to mightbewriting. She is an incredible support, teacher, writer, and editor. She also introduced me to my new favorite word - SADVERBS. If you haven't read her story Wait and Hope... GO NOW. READ. It's a spectacular work of art that is LITERALLY IMPOSSIBLE to stop reading.
> 
> As always, I love feedback - critiques, comments, cries of rage, and predictions are all welcome. Check out my Tumblr, Endless_musings, for sneak previews and pretty aesthetics.
> 
> Without further ado... ENJOY CHAPTER 5!
> 
> Stay safe! Until next time,  
> 

**Secrets of the Moon**  
_Chapter 5_

"Why do I even bother shopping?" She mumbled under her breath, shoving aside sweaters she hadn't worn in ages. Dressed in a bathrobe, she pawed at the clothes in her closet for anything at all that wouldn't make her feel like a sexless sack of potatoes. Droplets of water trailed down her back, and given her lack of time, she now had no choice but to braid her wet hair. _There's got to be some-_

A quiet woosh tickled her ears. Her breathing stopped.

 _Someone is here,_ her wolf growled, suddenly awake and territorial. Draco couldn't possibly be here - she glanced at the clock - over twenty minutes early; it'd be asinine. Lifting her nose, she inhaled. Pine, yes, but... also bacon, and woman's floral perfume. An unfamiliar scent.

The soft, slow sound of muffled breathing came into focus, and the air in the bedroom turned stagnant. Her eyes narrowed. Alert. _Deadly._

 _Give me control_ , her wolf begged. After days of being ignored, the beast clawed beneath her skin. A storm would be easier to harness than the wild nature gnawing within, especially so close to the full moon.

Without making noise, Hermione held her breath, tiptoeing around the corner into the kitchen. As she prowled, crouched beside the island, she tightened the knot keeping her bathrobe secured on her body.

A rustling, in the living room. Her body snapped toward the sound.

Adrenaline surged through her veins, rousing the constrained beast.

 _Careful_ , her wolf warned. Hidden behind the wall, she was a predator, a perfectly manicured force of nature.

A shadow extended on her right, and footsteps drew nearer, and a pounding heartbeat, and-

Her fist connected with stubbled skin covering a sharp jaw. Grabbing the man's collar, she pushed him against the wall with a shriek, her leg pressed hard into his groin.

"...fucking...bloody hell… Merlin, Granger! It's me!"

Draco's pulse beat wildly under her thumb but her grip at his neck did not falter. "What the fuck are you doing breaking into my place?"

"It's not 'breaking in' if we have an appointment," he corrected, his hot breath caressing her cheek. Normally light crystal, his hooded gaze smoldered like charcoal.

Only then did she register his muscular chest rising and falling, steady under her fingers. His intoxicating scent, steeped in adrenaline, became stronger with every labored breath, provoking her already stimulated wolf. At the feel of his powerful hold on her arms and her leg nestled between his thighs, heat rose in her core.

 _How easy it would be to just continue running your hand along_...

Hermione growled, ripping herself from his grasp. "You're nearly twenty minutes early! And I DID NOT open the door for you. Therefore," her voice cracked, "you're. Breaking. In!"

A breathy laugh escaped him, and her eyes followed his tongue as it wet his lips. "Your floo was open."

With his body leaned against the wall, sleeves rolled and hair grazing his crystal eyes, his smug charm felt maddening. She crossed her arms defensively.

"How the _fuck_ was I supposed to know to close it?"

Draco rubbed the back of his neck. "Wizards normally close their floo, otherwise, visitors are welcome to sit and wait. I imagine it's not customary in the muggle world."

The rumblings of her wolf, ignited by the lingering memory of his body against hers, howled for her acknowledgment. _You felt it. You felt that we could have him…_

 _He's a client,_ she thought harshly.

"No it's not _customary._ You're always so bloody _early_ ," she added, breathing a wavering inhale to soothe where her nerves balanced on pinpoints. A floral scent infiltrated her nose."Why are you wearing women's perfume?"

"I just attended breakfast with my mother."

Her lips formed a perfect circle. _This is why I don't listen to you,_ she chastised. At the sharp condemnation, her wolf whimpered back into the dark part of her subconscious.

She watched him trace his jaw in the spot her fist connected with his skin."I'm not apologizing, by the way."

He chuckled, the low sound reverberating deep in her stomach. "You can do that to me again any time you'd like."

Hermione flushed. "I don't think...that's not appropriate-"

The look on his face lacked the poised aristocracy she'd become accustomed to; it was nearly animal, primal in its heat and power. Wherever his eyes touched her body, her skin tingled.

"Get dressed."

She gritted her teeth as her fists tightened. "You barge into my place, scare me half to death, and now you're ordering me around like I'm some kind of _dog_ -"

"You just attempted to pick a fight with an alpha days before the full moon…in a bathrobe no less."

Hermione opened her mouth to challenge his authoritative tone until his words sunk into her gut.

Her legs were exposed. Her hair soaking wet. The fluffy robe was barely covering her chest.

 _Oh fuck_.

Embarrassment singed her cheeks in a noticeable splattering of pink and red. Turning on her heel, she fled from his sight.

As she threw on a plain skirt and blouse, deftly braiding her hair, she felt a sense of unease. Even after being punched, Draco's hair remained effortlessly tousled. Under long black robes, he looked elegant, modern in his button-down shirt tucked into fitted black trousers. _Sexy_ , she couldn't help but think.

His level of poise - on par with that of British royals she'd seen on television - belonged to an upbringing she'd never understand; obscene wealth squandered to hire finishing coaches, that emphasized propriety and focused on the importance of one's presentation in upper society. Raised in his lavish Manor, Draco represented a different breed of rich. A different breed entirely.

She glanced in the mirror. Restrained, as always. But, it'd have to do.

Once she finally mustered the courage to enter the living room, she raised a single finger in his direction. "You will never speak of that again. Ever. Unless you'd like to find a new lawyer. And you're teaching me how to close the damn floo."

A hint of mischief coloured Draco's smirk. "Has anyone ever told you you're bossy?"

"I prefer assertive." In truth, she'd spent her whole life being told she was bossy by lazy, less intellectually minded people who simply couldn't keep up with her.

"Hm." He tilted his head, icy eyes flashing with heat. "You'd make a brilliant beta."

"A what?"

"In pack hierarchy, a beta is second in command to an alpha. As alpha, I make final decisions and others look to me for guidance. A beta, though still powerful and _assertive_ , is less likely to win in a physical fight, particularly against an alpha."

She lifted her chin to meet his eyes. "Who says I'm not an alpha? I seem to have bested you easily. Twice now."

The challenge in her tone caused his lips to twitch and he prowled closer. A wolf stalking across her den. "If I felt so inclined, you wouldn't have been left standing."

"Say what you wish, but I have now both outrun you and pinned you, all the same." She straightened her shoulders and walked to the fireplace, leaving Draco to follow her for a change.

"You know, not long ago you were afraid of me."

It was her turn to smirk. "A mistake, on my part." Wiping her expression clean of any lingering heat, she asked, "Where are we going?"

"To the Ministry of Magic. Harry didn't agree to meet at the Manor, and seeing how your Floo connection is illegal, I thought it unwise to let him know your address."

She arched her brow. "How thoughtful of you not to reveal where I live to a wizard I don't know." The derisive words dripped from her tongue with oversaturated sweetness.

"I aim to please, Ms. Granger. Now, Harry knows nothing about your situation, and at the very least, I suggest we keep your wolfish abilities a secret. Which reminds me…" he paced over to the couch, and retrieved a black robe that matched his own. "You must wear this, to blend in. Hold out your arms."

Draco seemed careful not to touch her as he draped the fabric over her shoulders. The robe felt surprisingly lightweight, falling perfectly at her ankles and hugging her wrists as if tailored to her exact specifications. The feel caused an unintentional curve of her lips.

The responding glint in Draco's eye told her that he already knew it would fit. He had a meticulousness to him that she'd underestimated. Every detail thought through with cunning precision.

Including hem lengths, apparently.

"It's lovely," she whispered, still twirling the fabric beneath her fingers, "thank you."

He acknowledged her praise with nothing but a curt nod, though, she noticed a pink glow around the tops of his ears.

When the silence stretched too long, she cleared her throat. "Why do you want me to lie to Harry about being a wolf? Do you not trust him?"

"I don't trust anyone." He retrieved the small velvet bag of Floo powder from his pocket. "But that doesn't mean he can't be useful. We're seeing him for a wand only. I'd rather not reveal you're the first shifter seen in a century until we know his initial reaction to you."

He held out his arm, which she clutched easily, and then they were off.

To ensure her illegal Floo connection remained secret, they took two trips - first to the Manor, and then to the Ministry. The world continued to whirl dangerously upon her exit.

"Is it always that horrible?" She coughed up ash lodged in her throat.

"You'll get used to it."

But, as she looked out into the grand entryway, she whispered slowly, "No, I don't think I will."

The row of fireplaces, gilded and glittering, roared with the steady appearance and disappearance of witches and wizards dawning billowing robes. Symbols drifted across the deep blue ceiling. Voices boomed with excitement. Papers zipped through the air, twittering as they passed. It was, in every sense of the word, magical.

Any apprehension she'd previously felt melted into the heated bubbling of her curiosity. Compulsion urged her to stray forward, but a firm hand on her wrist stopped her.

"Stay close," he said, low and deep against her ear. "And act natural, we don't want to draw unnecessary attention toward you."

When she looked up at him, his face had turned pinched and severe. He wore a different mask from others she'd previously seen. Devoid of any humanity, the sharp angles of his face appeared pronounced; a cold, stunning image of dignified power. It sent chills down her soul.

"Act natural?" she bristled beside him, unable to stop her mind from churning, nor her restless eyes from wandering. "How the hell can I do that when - wait, was that a... goblin? A real one? I read about them! Do all the ceilings move?" A group of witches walked by in brightly colored, silken robes, their heels clicking against the marble. "I feel severely underdressed-"

His grip on her arm tightened and he practically dragged her toward a set of elevator doors.

"Hermione, please for the love of Merlin, stop talking and just walk beside me and _act natural_."

She ignored him, confident no one would ever take notice of someone as plain as she with such wondrous surroundings.

"Is it always this busy?" She barely dodged the owl that swooped past her head.

His strong jaw twitched from the gnashing of his teeth. "Yes."

"What's gotten you so tense?"

A small crowd of wizards waited nearby to step into the opening elevator doors. Draco stared down over his nose at her and grunted a non-answer.

"Mr. Malfoy!" A withered voice said from beside them. An elderly wizard, stooped with age, hardly gave Hermione a glance as he looked up at the imposing blonde beside her. "Fantastic work on our Egypt fiasco. It's fortunate you were there - I thought the tomb would swallow us whole!"

Draco stiffened. "Thank you, sir. "

"Are you available to be contracted for another project? We found a remarkable stockpile of cursed artifacts at the hideout of a previous Death Eater-"

"I'm not taking on any new projects at this time."

The ancient wizard, apparently accustomed to Draco's short mood, lacked the offense Hermione felt at her client's sharp demeanor.

When they boarded the elevator, her gaze shifted to each incoming face, noticing their small winces and widened eyes at the sight of Draco. Some looked apprehensive, others awed. All looked suspicious.

And, no one else dared say a word to them.

An exorbitant amount of questions simmered against her lips. What was this place? And who exactly was the mercurial man beside her? Between mentions of Egypt and curses, his extraordinarily frigid demeanor, and the suspicious glances, she grew unsettled.

The onslaught of the elevator's jerked movements in all directions - up, down, sideways, backward - made matters worse.

A gentle squeeze of long fingers against her wrist was the only solace she found. She couldn't shake the feeling that she was alone in finding comfort in his presence- certainly true amongst those on the elevator, who could scarcely look in his direction. When they disembarked, his hand dropped from her body and she scurried out after him, ignoring the perked eyebrows and sideways glances from other passengers.

Not making eye contact with anyone, Draco marched them down the halls until they reached a corner office. A golden plaque on the door read, _Harry Potter: Head of the Auror Department._

Draco straightened his already immaculate robes. "Are you ready?"

"Do I have a choice?" Her hand trembled, and she forced in a deep breath. In her life, she made it a point to always feel prepared - beyond prepared, in fact. Now, she had but one choice: trust him.

"I'll take care of everything," he promised, as though reading her mind. Through the cracking sharpness of his glacial eyes, she found a hidden sliver of warmth.

When the door opened, Hermione noted with surprise that Harry looked no older than she was. His green eyes were expressive, hair styled, but unkept - a struggle she understood - and his robes slightly rumpled. It was a stunning rebuke of all that Draco presented.

Motioning toward the two chairs in front of his desk, Harry didn't utter a word as they filed into the office. They sat in tension coated silence for a few moments.

Draco yielded first. "Potter."

"Malfoy."

More silence followed. Dryness overwhelmed her mouth.

Harry finally met her eyes. His face held no inkling of coldness, and she was immediately jealous of his vulnerability: confusion, apprehension, curiosity, all painted clearly on his face.

"I'm Harry Potter."

She sat straighter, taking a note from the way Draco's air of conviction carried in his impeccable posture. "Hermione Granger. It's a pleasure."

"I hear the Weasley girl is pregnant, so congratulations are in order, I suppose," Draco said, a forceful strain tinting his sentiment.

"Ginny hasn't been the _Weasley girl_ since we married four years ago." From the corner of his eyes, Harry's gaze passed over her red-tinted cheeks, then landed quickly back on Draco. "What are you here for?"

"I'm here to ask for assistance securing Ms. Granger a wand."

"Did you consider having her meet with Olivander…the wandmaker?" Harry asked dryly.

If possible, Draco's nose rose higher in the air, eyebrows arched in condescension. "Why didn't I think of that? Ten points to Gryffindor," he scoffed. "If it were that simple, _Potter_ , I wouldn't have wasted my time meeting you, would I?"

Harry exhaled a frustrated breath. "I'm not in the mood for Slytherin games, Malfoy. Why can't she go to Olivander's?"

"Ms. Granger has never owned a wand. Nor does she have any training."

Harry leaned forward, elbows planted on the desk and fingers clasped. "What do you mean?"

"She has only recently been made aware that she's a witch."

"She's unregistered?" Harry sputtered.

"Of course she's unregistered," Draco scolded with a roll of his eyes. "Those security measures were implemented just after the war, well before Hermione even knew what she was. It's illegal for Olivander to provide her a wand."

Harry shook his head, struggling with the information. "I understand what you meant- that... it's just...that's impossible."

The tapping of Harry's foot against the worn carpet, coupled with his shifting gaze from Draco's severe face to hers, made Hermione's heart rate soar. Seldom did she find herself the center of attention. Uncomfortable under his suspicious gaze, she forced herself to breath, for her wolf to keep calm, despite the rising humiliation she felt.

"So it would seem," Draco drawled, "but I've seen it with my own eyes and felt it when I touched her." His lips twitched and his gaze softened. "Ms. Granger is a witch."

Closing his eyes, Harry rubbed his temples. "She'd be mad if she repressed her magic this long. You must see the impossibility in all this."

"As if that's stopped you from believing before?"

"I'm just confused." Harry tugged on his already messy locks. "How was she not found before now? Whether from Hogwarts or any other school. Surely, _someone_ would have made contact with a witch who is apparently so powerful you knew simply by touching her. It just seems…. improbable-"

"I assure you, I've thought of-"

And so the boys debated while Hermione kept a running list of questions in her mind; _War? And what is a Hogwarts? How do they track witches and wizards? Why did they miss her…._

Annoyance soon lodged itself in her jaw, to have others talk as if she weren't there. She particularly hated the feeling. Though quiet, she was intelligent enough to speak on her own behalf, even if she didn't know _everything_. It was _her_ magic in question, after all. Why not just ask her?

"-she knocked a stack of books clear off a shelf from across the room, without even trying-"

"You know, you could just ask me, Mr. Potter." Her strained voice broke free - quite loudly - unable to stand the bickering between them any longer.

Both men turned to her, surprise colouring their features. At least Harry had the audacity to look ashamed, still flushed from his quibbling with Draco, and he sheepishly nodded for her to continue.

She took a deep breath. "My whole life, I've always been different. Growing up, I called them outbursts. Sometimes, it was just a flicker of lights- easy enough to ignore or blame on bad electricity. Other times, it was larger items; books moving in anger, or a glass falling from a shelf. I ignored it. I had to. Though my adoptive parents were somewhat a pair of hippies," she smiled softly, "they were _normal,_ logical minded people. I couldn't tell them."

"You don't know your real parents?"

"No."

Harry leaned forward in his chair, his eyes bright, yet there remained a prominent tightness around his mouth. "Do these outbursts happen frequently? And are they always emotional in nature?"

"My magic only occurs during emotional outbursts," she said, before quickly adding, "but, I've gotten very adept at managing it. It's rare, now that I'm older. No one else has ever seen."

Harry raised his brow. "And you just happened to lose control of your emotions in front of…erm... Malfoy?"

Hermione blinked. "He can be infuriating-"

"You have no idea."

The irritable blonde in question groaned, his elbows propped on his knees. "Oh, for fucks sake," he muttered. "The point is that I witnessed one of these outbursts. If the Daily Prophet finds out Hermione's story, an adult witch who has never used magic, it'd become a media circus."

"The Department of Registry is confidential, you know that."

"And you know that's bollocks."

"There's something you're not telling me," Harry accused, bringing his clasped hands in front of his lips. "Why are you trying to keep her hidden?"

Draco remained silent, his gaze unwavering. The animalistic quality he kept hidden behind a genteel mask bulged against his eyes, a wolf protecting its territory.

Draco opened his mouth, but Hermione gripped his arm to hush him. "It's, uh, my fault, Mr. Potter. I'm skeptical of everything, really."

She made it a point to meet Harry's honest eyes, to convince him of her half-truth by appealing to his forthright vulnerability. Lying did not come naturally to her, despite her dependence on it. It's what prevented her from having deep relationships with anyone. Eventually, lying wasn't enough, even when peppered with moments of truth.

She chewed her lip before continuing. "It took Draco a while to convince me to come here at all. I don't feel comfortable becoming a part of this world, yet. Not when I know so little about it."

"But now that you're here, you can see there is no reason to avoid being registered. There is no reason you can't learn to feel comfortable-"

"There is nothing comforting about magic." Draco tensed beside her. "It's made me feel ostracized my entire life, how can I possibly depend on it now? I'm already putting my trust in two people I barely know. Why should I risk more than that?"

Unexpectedly, she found no pity in Harry's eyes. Instead, she read the familiar patterns of someone who felt different, othered. Someone like herself. Soft green eyes lingered on her face and she let him study the script of her tragedy as it played out in the wrinkle on her forehead, and the tight pull around her mouth.

By her side, Draco's knee bounced, and she saw his posture grow rigid. His fingers wrapped around the arm of her chair possessively. "What will it be, Potter? Can you help her?"

"This is a bad idea," he muttered under his breath, stretching the skin on his forehead with his hands.

"But you'll do it?" She pressed. "Please it-"

"Alright, alright. But I have stipulations." Reaching for a quill and parchment, he began writing. "You have ninety days to register with the Ministry. Should you not register within that time, I will take your wand-" he held up a finger at the sight of Draco's opening mouth, "-no exceptions. I won't let her remain illegal forever. Further, you will give me a detailed list of her training. I require weekly updates. You'll adhere to all other wizarding laws." Harry looked pointedly over his glasses at Draco. "This should go without saying, but no dark magic."

"Fine," Draco conceded under Harry's sharp glare. "Anything else?"

With a grimace, Harry stopped writing. "Is she aware of your...affliction?"

Releasing a growl, Draco's chest puffed as he rolled his shoulders. "Excuse me-"

"I only ask as a precaution!" Harry winced, raising his hands in surrender. "I don't need her learning about your _nature_ by accidentally staying too long at the Manor during the full moon."

Heat flashed in her copper eyes, her nails digging into her palms. "I'm well aware of his _affliction_ as you so kindly referred to it," she scoffed. "And I don't care. Nor should what happens to someone one day a month ever determine my trust-"

Draco kicked her foot, effectively cutting off her tirade before she revealed her own _affliction_. "She's clearly fine with it, Potter."

Harry sat back in his chair, his cheeks glowing around the edges. "There's only one problem left. Her wand. You know bloody well that Olivander isn't going to want to see you, Malfoy."

The look of pain that flitted across Draco's eyes confused her. He persisted, asking, "are you suggesting she go alone?"

"She wouldn't be alone," Harry pronounced each syllable, "she'd be escorted by me."

"No. I won't leave her unprotected."

"Unprotected? The only person she has to fear is you-"

"I'm here for your help, Potter, not to argue over the mistakes of my past. Now, are you actually willing to help or not?" Draco's breath erupted in even bursts, but Hermione heard the wild blood thrumming through his veins.

Harry sighed. "I'm willing to help her, but Olivander won't allow you into his shop. Not after what happened."

Draco's scent developed into a heady mixture of anxiety and fire, emanating from veins protruding along tense arms. In her mind, Hermione continued to file away questions about the wandmaker, and Draco's past.

The alpha stood. "We're leaving."

"No," she challenged, rising to place a hand on his chest. "I've come this far, and I'd like to have input on these decisions. You know I can protect myself, if it came to it-"

"Absolutely not. You don't know enough about-"

Her nostrils flared as she scoffed. "You are so bossy!"

"I prefer assertive."

"And I prefer to call him arrogant," Harry shifted his weight, uncomfortable at the proximity between Draco and Hermione, "but regardless of what Draco should be called, there is no reason I can't take you to Olivander's shop."

"Potter, if anything happens to her-"

"In Diagon Alley?" Harry snorted.

Draco clenched his jaw, a war waged behind firelit eyes. But eventually, he nodded.

As they discussed the arrangements of their next meeting- tomorrow at Malfoy Manor, 8 am _sharp_ \- she felt a heavy pressure settle in her bones at the prospect of finally getting a wand. Mere days ago, she'd been hiding, unaware that there existed a whole world she could actually feel connected to. Outside of her family and clients, this was the most she'd conversed with others in years. It felt like breathing in fresh air after a long winter trapped indoors.

But a decision remained: In just ninety days, she needed to choose between basking in an endless moon, or remaining caged in perpetual winter. Though her mother advised the latter, her wolf hungered to run free.

Draco held the office door open for her, and guided her down the hall.

"I'm not pleased," he admitted in a hushed murmur while they waited for the elevator. "But at least you'll have your wand and your privacy, for now."

Unable to find words under the weight of her thoughts, she simply nodded. His eyes fixated on her hunched shoulders and she sensed his curiosity about her dour mood.

They stepped into the empty elevator in silence.

But, before the doors could close, a well-manicured hand slipped between them, halting their departure.

A demure woman with lips painted burgundy and short black hair, slithered onto the elevator. "Draco."

He took an imperceptible step in front of Hermione, using his muscular frame to overshadow her. "Pansy."

The uptick in Draco's heart, the stiffening of his broad shoulders, turned Hermione's blood cold. Her wolf sensed a crackle of danger in the air. Instinctively, she searched for an escape, but found no option to flee - the floor unwilling to accept her attempt to melt into it. Eyes cast down, body pressed against the wall, she stayed silent.

Pansy peered up at Draco through mischievous eyes lined by thick lashes. "Are you going to introduce me to your guest?"

Draco stared straight ahead, clasping his hands behind his back. "This is Ms. Granger."

At the sound of her name, Hermione winced. Should she offer her hand? Did women like Pansy even shake hands?

"Ah!" Pansy purred. "The one with the illegal Floo connection. So this is the mysterious person."

 _Draco's contact at the Floo Regulation Board_ , Hermione shivered. Of all the people to be in charge of her first illicit activity, this alluring woman, practically brimming with sinister energy, intimidated her beyond anything she'd faced so far.

"Pansy," Draco growled in warning.

"Oh, don't be so paranoid." She rolled her eyes. "I'd get in just as much trouble as the two of you."

"I'd rather not test that theory," he drawled.

"You're aware Astoria is coming to town next week?"

Draco unleashed a glare at Pansy, his most unkind yet.

The enigmatic woman simply responded with a smirk. "Of course you know. Narcissa wouldn't let that detail go forgotten." Pansy's eyes traveled past his chest, and burned into Hermione. "You should invite Ms. Granger. I'd love meeting the woman I'm risking Azkaban for."

The elevator jolted to a stop and Hermione slammed into Draco's unyielding body.

"I'll consider it."

With grace she wished to possess, he stepped out of the elevator, leaving her to pass Pansy alone.

Wicked lips parted in a grin. "Don't let him make decisions for you. Alpha's can't always have all the fun."

Flustered, Hermione stumbled out of the elevator. As she chased Draco, her throat constricted. She longed to slip into the forest unnoticed and run until she could no longer breathe. _What have I gotten myself into?_


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M BACK. And apologetic. And hoping you all can forgive me for such a long time between posts! This chapter is... Well. It is what it is. But, I'm proud I pushed through and finished after what felt like four different iterations and drafts. 
> 
> Truly, this chapter wouldn't be here without alpha/beta assistance from the amazing Mightbewriting. I can't explain how much I've learned, and I am eternally indebted to her thoughtful feedback and meticulous eye. <3 If you haven't read her newest fic Sight and Seeing, SERIOUSLY YOU MUST. It's incredible. 
> 
> Any grammar/ spelling issues remaining in this chapter are my own.
> 
> To everyone who left lovely comments and kudos, THANK YOU. I'm always left speechless. It means so much to me. As always, come hang out with me on Tumblr. It's great fun. 
> 
> NOW onto Chapter 6!!!! Until next time loves,  
> 

**Secrets of the Moon**  
_Chapter 6_

* * *

Draco paced his study. Six steps forward, marked by the resounding click of Italian leather shoes against ancient wooden floors, then the scrape of a heel, and six steps back. A painting in the far corner scolded him for his dizzying antics, but the words barely registered.

His head swiveled toward the grandfather clock, the beat of his steps never faltering, and he growled. He still needed to wait a full forty minutes more before his meeting with Potter. Before he could see Hermione.

The nearing full moon and its promise of freedom triggered his compulsory need to embody the duties expected of him as alpha. His desires were heightened. But, the pulsating tension in his core differed from the fevered, horny behavior of his teenage years. Whereas in his youth the yearning for another's touch may have caused a randy bout of self-exploration, or a romp in the Slytherin dungeons, now these urges originated deep inside, the place where animal and man melded into one and sought pleasures not only carnal but connubial.

He was a dragon, and Hermione possessed all the potential to be fire in his lungs; intelligence, beauty, power, a trustworthy leader for his future pack.

 _Ours,_ his wolf staked claim from a lonely cage in Draco's subconscious, aching to take full control.

Six more clicks against the hardwoods.

Until he had Hermione, his wolf's restless dissatisfaction would continue, threats from his father be damned. He rubbed his temples in time with his steps.

The only variable, really, was her willingness. He needed her, doomed as he was to concede to his baser instincts. But at this point in the lunar cycle, it'd be impossible to know if she wanted him beyond physical gratification. Though cautious, her scent sometimes carried tinges of her desire, cloyingly sweet and soaked in vanilla, and he relished that she no longer shivered in fear at his casual touch.

But none of that meant she actually wanted to _be_ with him. His foot stumbled, the deflation of his ego momentarily interrupting the rhythm of his footsteps.

Today, she'd leave him to go off with _Potter,_ and he'd be forced to trust the walking disaster magnet.

Inside, his beast recoiled at the imagined moments she'd share with the golden boy in Diagon Alley; the way her lips would part in wonder at the sight of creatures and curious shop fronts. Wide copper eyes shining as they absorbed every inch of her new surroundings. The sound of her gasps. The curve of her smooth neck as it craned to….

The click of his shoes halted. One point to his wolf's overpowering paranoia. Zero for self-control.

His fireplace erupted with green light as he tossed down the floo powder.

Stepping into Hermione's living room, it surprised him to find her waiting on the couch, a book from his library propped open on her lap.

Draco breathed in the vanilla and pine-scented air and a piece of his soul, the one he fought to suppress in the solitude of his room last night, gasped awake. She wore the robe he'd gifted her, and he felt an overwhelming sense of pride that clashed with his want to tear the fabric off her shoulders.

"You decided to wear clothes today," he teased through lips stretched into a coy grin.

Draco observed the spark of amusement at the edges of her eyes and heard the skip of her heart at his reminder of yesterday's encounter. Had her dreams been as fevered as his?

"Is there a reason why you're always so early?" she asked, ignoring his teasing.

_My pathetic lack of patience._

_Her_ _fucking lovely scent_ , his wolf chimed.

"I was raised to be prompt," he answered with a casual shrug.

"Hm." Hermione placed the book on the coffee table before rubbing her palms against her knees.

"Feeling apprehensive again?"

"I'm excited." Her voice pitched high, and her face paled.

Draco breathed a faint laugh. "You have nothing to fear."

"I'll have to take your word for it." Her tone was light, but the meaning darkened as it entered his psyche and the words sank like lead into his stomach.

"And if you didn't? Have to take my word for it, I mean."

"You've given me no reason not to trust you, I suppose." She brushed her hair behind her ear, where it only stayed in place for a moment before springing back out against her cheek. Brows furrowed, she changed the subject.

"What does finding your wand feel like?" Hermione asked.

Seizing the opportunity, Draco sat on the couch, close enough that her shoulder nearly grazed his arm. When he removed his wand from his pocket, he felt the worn fabric shift under him, saw her knees turn slightly toward his. The breath in his lungs expanded.

He twirled the innocuous piece of wood between deft fingers, failing to hide a crooked smile that crinkled the skin around his eyes.

"You don't find your wand, your wand finds you. It remains one of the few happy memories from my childhood."

She inched closer.

"Here," he murmured, pressing it into her fingers before reciting, "ten inches, made of hawthorn wood with a unicorn hair core. Excellent for healing. I knew as soon as I felt it that it was mine."

Carefully, her fingers inspected every grain before gripping the handle. "I feel something like a...a spark when I hold it. But whatever it is, it doesn't feel familiar."

"Of course not. You've never embraced your magic. A wand will help you do that." He tugged his fingers through fine platinum strands. "Promise me you'll stay safe?" He suddenly demanded, his voice sharp even to his own ears. Too serious given her soft words and gentle curiosity. Too much. Too protective. But his wolf slammed against the cage, vibrating iron rattling the command from his mouth, "Don't stray from Potter's side."

"I've remained hidden since birth. I know how to handle myself." Hermione rolled her eyes, adding, "All on my _own_ , in fact."

He froze, studying her face, and finding the invisible scars of a lone wolf. Could she see how overeager he'd become? Taste his arousal like he could hers? He'd caught her lingering eyes, but couldn't decipher their message, guarded as it was. Did she want to remain alone?

"This isn't the muggle world," Draco's tone darkened, pleasing the behest of his wolf, "wizards aren't so quick to pass things off as coincidental."

"No one will notice me."

Draco barked out a gruff laugh, resisting the urge to run through the growing list in his head of the people he wanted to maim simply for staring at her. Instead, "I certainly did."

Hermione tensed beside him, and when he smelled her honey-sweet adrenaline, he wondered if the electrifying crackle floating through the air tingled against her skin as it did his.

"You didn't notice me. You hunted me during the full moon. That's very different."

"An Alpha doesn't waste his time with anything that isn't the best." Repeated to Draco his entire life, his father's words instinctively fled his lips. The first woman to awaken his body and soul and he could think of no better way to describe his fascination than with his father's poison.

Though she tilted her head to scrutinize him, the weight of his words remained lost on her.

By the time Draco pulled them through the Floo, arriving at the Manor only moments before Potter, Draco's agitation swelled at the base of his spine.

"Take care of her," he warned, leveraging his substantial shoulder width to loom over Harry.

"She'll be fine, Malfoy."

Ignoring him, Draco pressed, "Keep her close. She doesn't have a frame of reference for anything in wizarding society. We are starting from scratch, and you know the trouble it can lead to."

Harry snorted. "I understand that better than anyone. I'll bring her back unharmed, not to worry. Ready, Hermione?"

And as Draco watched them disappear, he began his fatalistic pacing once more. Six steps forward, marked by the resounding click of Italian leather shoes against ancient wooden floors.

* * *

Until now, Hermione believed nothing could ever be as wondrous as the Ministry of Magic, nor as mystifying as the secrets lurking within Malfoy Manor.

Diagon Alley proved her wrong in the most splendid fashion; her eyes couldn't absorb the delights in the shop windows fast enough. Owls and broomsticks - flying broomsticks! - and leather tomes, and quills, and cauldrons and a candy shop with leaping chocolate frogs.

The walk took place in silence, though to Harry's benefit, he didn't hinder her from peeking a moment too long at each nook and cranny. She caught his faint grin when she gasped at the sight of an enormous bookstore- the tamest spectacle in Diagon Alley if she were being honest.

So her surprise did not feel unreasonable when Harry stopped outside a building that looked misplaced amongst the other stores. Olivander's shop paled in comparison to everything else she'd passed; it stood crooked, dust-covered windows tilted at odd angles, and as she eyed the peeling, faded paint, she decided this shop desperately needed attention.

"This?" Her brow furrowed and her face snapped toward Harry, who chuckled.

"The best wands in the world are made here," he assured her as he held the door open.

The shop bell announced their presence. Imposing shelves standing tall behind the counter, brimming with boxes of all sizes and sorts that alarmingly appeared to have no particular order. How could anyone find what they were looking for here? Hermione wrung her hands together in an attempt to focus on anything other than the horrid disorganization.

A cloud of dust arose from beyond the shelves, and a man emerged from the shadows.

"Good morning, Mr. Olivander," Harry called.

The man, severe-looking under the wrinkles etched deep beside his frown, stepped into the light. "Harry, my boy!" He limped toward the front counter. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"I'm here to help Ms. Granger buy a wand."

"Welcome, Ms. Granger. What kind was your last wand dear-"

From the back of the store, a flurrying of boxes crashed, over a dozen in total, thudding as they connected with the ground.

Mr. Olivander turned to face the chaotic stacks, assessing the mess strewn across the floor. He let out a yelp.

"What's wrong?" Harry asked.

From the corner of her vision, Hermione saw him gripping his wand, and fur prickled beneath her skin, itching with the ignition of her nerves.

"There is no need for that, Mr. Potter," said Olivander, his long wrinkled finger pointing toward the mess.

A box, no larger than a ruler, floated in the middle of the aisle above the other fallen wands. Then, slowly, it drifted of its own accord, stopping mere inches in front of Hermione's eyes. It hovered a moment before it too fell against the floor, landing intact by her feet.

"Merlin's beard," she heard Olivander murmur.

Harry stared, dumbfounded. "Does this happen often?" He whispered slowly, as though not wishing to disturb the possessed box.

"It's curious, Mr. Potter-"

"Oh not again," Harry muttered in a tone so low Hermione was certain an elderly ear wouldn't notice.

"It has only happened once before in my time, where the pull of the wand to a wizard was this powerful. That wand, Ms. Granger, is yours. It has presented itself to you. There will be no need to try any others today."

Numb, she looked at the box by her feet. There, packaged in unassuming black cardboard lay her ticket to magic, to control, to a life of possibilities. Trembling, she reached down and grabbed it no differently than she would a steel wolf trap.

"Go on then," Mr. Olivander urged. "Open it."

Inside she found a beautifully ornate piece of wood, light in colour, with carvings of vines and small leaves scaling the exterior. It reminded her of home, covered in plants that climbed the walls and windows, surrounded by the peaceful forest.

As for how it felt, well, the whispers of magic she'd experienced holding Draco's wand tarnished under the energy flowing through her. This wand, _her wand_ , felt like an extension of herself; her own heartbeat outside her body, and the magic that had been in her since birth hummed in warm familiarity.

She gazed up at Mr. Olivander, his eyes sparkling like stars against a caustic sky. "10 ¾ inches, with a dragon heartstring core, made of vine wood procured from the Forbidden Forest. A wand that will seek purpose beyond the usual, and demand continuous growth from its user."

"Ms. Granger." His voice floated faraway, blue eyes growing cloudier, "that wand has been in my shop for nearly six decades. I never thought I'd live to see the day when it selected a wizard."

Hermione leaned forward, eager to hear more, but his eyes continued to trail off.

More silence, and then curiosity - a dangerous amount - gave pulse to her words, "Why not?"

Olivander analyzed Hermione's face, passing over her curls, pausing on the bridge of her nose and the subtle point of her chin. She fidgeted as he finally met her eyes. "I accidentally discovered a pack of shifters in my earliest travels. Using the tree above their den I was able to make one wand- that wand in your hands. From the moment I made it, it's proven unresponsive to other wizards who've held it. I suspect it has an affinity for its own kind."

Hermione struggled to maintain control of her features. For years her mysterious past ate away at her, an army of gnats gnawing on her skin until it bubbled raw. Yet, now so close to what felt like discovery, her words failed her, caught in the chaotic tangle of her curiosity.

"Give it a wave," he instructed before Hermione could speak.

"Um," she sputtered and looked to Harry, who only gave her an imperceptible nod. She swallowed. "Of course."

With the image of Draco in her head, she tried to imitate his smooth motions as she waved the wand. A quick flick of her wrist, followed by a swish.

Nothing happened.

She tried again, to no avail.

"It's interesting," Olivander narrowed his eyes, "that one so obviously brimming with magic, and holding such a powerful wand, can't cast."

"I'm, er, sure the wand just feels different than what she's used to. Doesn't it, Hermione," Harry prodded for her benefit.

Her curls bounced with the vehement nods of her head. "Yes, of course. I just need some, uh, practice with it, that's all."

"It's not practice you need," Olivander disagreed but elaborated no further.

Harry fiddled with his glasses, and cleared his throat. "How much will it cost?"

"To charge something as worthless as galleons would dishonor the shifter who so kindly offered me that vine. It's yours, Ms. Granger. It was never mine to sell."

The wand pulsed beneath her fingers giving her renewed energy that tickled her vocal cords, and before she could stop herself, she asked, "What do you think happened to the shifters?"

Olivander walked back behind his desk, head tilted in contemplation. "Hmm," he breathed. "I used to imagine they were hiding somewhere safe, but it's likely the truth is much more violent. Such magnificent creatures. Most wizards didn't even know they existed, and those who did have all but forgotten them. It's almost poetic, don't you think, that they left this earth as mysteriously as they entered it."

Hermione fought to keep the rising bubble in her throat from choking her. Clutching her wand, she remained silent, not wanting to alert the already suspicious Olivander of her secret.

"Thank you for your time, Mr. Olivander." Harry smiled, a tight stretch forcing a crease on his cheek, and he placed a guiding hand on the top of Hermione's arm as they left.

The outside world seemed to have changed during their short time in the shop. In the dimly lit store, she'd forgotten the playfulness of magic, focused instead on Olivander's retelling of the wicked perils that came with power. Her ancestors likely brought to a violent end. Gone.

Yet, somehow: she existed. It begged the familiar question, who worked so hard to conceal her? And why? Her wand, now safe in her robes, suffered the same fate - a lone survivor hidden away.

"Would you like to get breakfast?" Harry's kind voice startled her from her troubled thoughts.

Hermione stumbled, nearly falling on the cobblestone. "Oh."

"Are you not hungry?" Harry glanced sideways in her direction, his pace slowed.

Her stomach churned, too unsettled to feel anything but achy. However, her heart warmed at the prospect of sitting down to breakfast with another person. It'd been years.

"Lead the way."

* * *

Hermione blew on the hot porridge steaming in her spoon. A set of eyes at the table beside them shifted in her direction and she unintentionally met their gaze.

She hunched lower in her chair. "Why does everyone keep staring."

"I'm sorry," Harry grumbled, "If it's any consolation, they're not looking at you."

A person standing at the coffee bar turned their head, peaking over Harry's shoulder. Hermione placed a hand against her forehead, covering her eyes through fanned out fingers while wishing she knew enough magic to disappear.

"I feel so self-conscious."

Harry shoveled in a bite of eggs. "I've gotten used to it, to be honest. I haven't been out with anyone who would take notice in years."

"What, are you famous or something?" She snorted into her coffee mug.

Harry's ears glowed red.

_Oh._

"It's complicated."

Hermione groaned. "Oh for God's sake. Both you and Draco seem to think I'm incapable of understanding a story."

Placing his wand on the table, Harry glanced around through messy bangs. Hermione heard his soft mutter, _Muffiato._ Then louder, he asked, "How much have you learned about the wizarding world?"

"Hardly anything," Hermione still whispered, eyes shifting toward the surrounding patrons.

"It's overwhelming at first, but you'll get accustomed to it eventually," Harry said.

"Easy for a wizard to say," she argued.

"Actually, I grew up in a muggle household."

Captivated, she tried to lean closer, but the table against her ribs made it impossible. "What do you mean?"

Harry rubbed his temples. "Where do I even begin?" He muttered under his breath. "Wizards can be born of muggles. This happened to my mother, in fact. Regardless of background, at age eleven, all magical children receive an offer to learn at magical institutions. But, there are some wizarding families, particularly well-established ones, who consider their magic to be purer than muggle-borns."

"Is there a difference?" she asked.

"None at all. Lineage does not dictate magical ability. But not everyone feels that way. Thirty years ago a wizard named Voldemort rose to power with a mission to purge the wizarding world of what he considered tainted bloodlines. His followers called themselves Death Eaters, made up mostly of pure-blooded families."

Hermione shuddered. A study, filled with hundreds of years worth of trinkets and artifacts became clear in her head. An established household for an established bloodline.

"Just after my first birthday, my parents were murdered by Voldemort. He tried to kill me, but failed. I was sent to live with my aunt and uncle, both of whom were muggles."

It seemed obvious to her now, why she identified with Harry: orphans forced into the muggle world.

"I'm sorry." She found hints of a familiar sadness in his eyes. "What happened to Voldemort and the Death Eaters?"

Taking another deep breath, Harry launched into a retelling of the second rise of the madman, hungry with violent power and unwilling to die. He spoke of battles and the horrors of war. And of the Order of the Phoenix, a bright spot in an otherwise grim tale. And Hermione could see why everyone stared at the average looking man with bright green eyes: a hero unwilling to perceive himself that way.

When he finished, Hermione leaned back in her chair, churning over each consonant and vowel of Harry's struggle. Heated through with agony at the hurt he'd endured. Processing an entire war she'd been privileged to remain unaware of. And thinking of a blond man with piercing eyes whose touch felt entirely sinful.

She dared ask, "The Malfoy family, where do they fall in all of this?"

Harry fiddled with a napkin on the table, not meeting her stare. "What is your relationship with...Draco?"

"He's my client."

It felt like a lie. The moment Draco stormed into her office, sweeping her up into a world she'd long treated as forbidden, he'd charmed his way into becoming something less definable.

 _A worthy companion_. _A potential pack, a teacher, a family-_

"I met him a few days ago in my law firm," Hermione added, a bitterness corroding the typically pleasant melody of her voice.

Harry sucked his teeth for a moment and released a wary huff of air. "Voldemort relied on werewolves, including lesser varieties, to help carry out his orders. But it was the pure-blooded werewolf packs that he really used to secure power, promising them more rights in exchange for support. The Wiltshire Pack, led by Lucius Malfoy, followed Voldemort."

"Was Draco a Death Eater?" The name itself turned to poison on her tongue.

Harry paused, reluctant. "Yes."

Air squeezed out of her lungs, capillaries narrowing until she gasped. Everything came rushing forward; the moment Draco first chased her through the woods, his elegance on full display. Stolen glances. Promises of magic.

She had trouble reconciling what she knew of Draco compared to the picture Harry painted of murder and prejudice. A branded skull upon perfect skin.

Not even Draco's moods proved him capable of the evils Harry described, despite his penchant toward fire to ice and back again. His guidance buoyed her against long harbored loneliness. With gentle fingers he coaxed out the pieces she'd caged and hidden, providing comfort along the way.

"Is this why you and Draco dislike one another?"

Surprisingly, Harry chuckled. "We were sworn enemies from the moment we met. It started with silly schoolboy feuding, house rivalries and all that. Then the war made us real enemies, for a time at least."

He leaned forward and propped up his chin on clasped hands. "You have to understand, Draco's lived his whole life under the rule of a pack. There is no disagreeing with an Alpha, especially when that Alpha is your father. The Malfoy's desire to keep control of the status quo. It's why they manipulate Lycanthropy strains instead of becoming werewolves through bite alone."

Sensing her opportunity to hear Harry's perspective on the Wiltshire Pack, Hermione baited, "Draco mentioned wolves of his pack are superior because of it."

Harry nodded. "There's secrecy surrounding the exact practice. Each family has their own strain and they tailor out undesirable werewolf traits - mainly illness before the moon and lack of control during transformation. The Malfoy family are not shy to admit that they've built themselves to be the best and strongest. They're power-hungry, particularly Lucius."

Hermione frowned, a finger pressed against her lips. "But then the war ends, and you just let them go free after what they did?"

"Not everyone went free. Admittedly, it was hard to charge Death Eaters because most claimed to be coerced, or there was little proof to pin specific crimes on anyone."

"Including Draco?"

"No, actually. After the war, I testified before the Wizengamot to keep Malfoy and his family from serving time in prison."

Hermione narrowed her eyes. "You testified to save Death Eaters?"

"Malfoy can be a prat, but he's not _evil."_

"That's comforting," she said, the sardonic edge to her voice biting.

"Toward the end of the war, Draco's parents offered up secrets that helped the Order bring down Voldemort. Malfoy turned into a spy of sorts. Without their help, the Order may not have succeeded."

Hermione brought her fingers to her temples, failing to rub the tension from behind her eyes. "Why would they change sides?"

But the waitress interrupted, placing the cheque down on the table and taking another moment to stare with obvious interest at Harry.

Reaching into his pocket, Harry threw down change, a currency she'd never seen. She blushed, shifting in her seat to reach into her pockets, but Harry held up his hand to stop her.

"Thank you." She bit her lip.

Harry continued as though he hadn't heard her question. "I didn't know what to expect when Malfoy brought you into my office. The Malfoy family is cunning and manipulative, and in my experience, self-serving. Don't take this the wrong way, but if you only just met Malfoy this week, why is he going through the trouble to help you? What's in this for him?"

A thought she'd packed away, stuffed into a locker with the rest of her baggage, sprang open. Her jaw slackened. What did Draco want from her?

Before she could respond, the cafe door swung open. Pine and musk and espresso.

Draco Malfoy, swathed in black robes, brought to the cozy room an air of animalistic danger. Grey eyes ablaze, he stalked toward their table, occupying the empty seat beside Harry.

"Draco!" Her cheeks flushed as she met his icy stare. "What are you doing here?"

"It's been over two hours." Then, not breaking eye contact, he murmured, "I thought you'd been hurt."

A tickle fluttered in her stomach, slight at first, then tightening under his heated focus.

"How did you find us?" Harry asked.

The low growl emitted from deep in Draco's chest. His lips twitched, and Hermione fought her pull toward his venereal glower.

"He has a unique ability to hunt me, it seems."

His smirk changed since she'd last seen him, somehow, the single curve of his lip and the press of his eyebrows toward platinum hair held a newfound sinister promise.

_What does he want from me?_

No reason existed to explain why he'd teach her magic. Nor any reason why he'd go through the effort of asking his childhood enemy for help. And then remained the business of Draco's past. Her mind boiled, overwhelmed and overworked, barely managing to contain an endless stream of thoughts.

_Had he killed anyone? Did he still feel superior to muggle-borns? Did all packs believe in blood purity? What remained of the other Death Eaters-_

The cascade of her thoughts, now a full-fledged river angry after the thaw, carried her mind over a cliff. _Run!_ Something within screamed. _Hide!_ Her gut bubbled.

 _No,_ her wolf cried. _We've finally found a companion-_

Realizing that both Draco and Harry stared at her with unfiltered concern, she hid her panic behind a sip of cold coffee.

"I take it you found your wand?" Draco asked.

Nodding, Hermione took another small sip from the almost empty coffee mug.

 _Breathe,_ her wolf cooed, trying to relax her thundering heart.

Hermione inhaled. Only for her nose to fill again with pine and warm cinnamon, carried along heady masculine ribbons through the air. _Him._

Curse the moon, and it's blasted cycle.

Seemingly unaware of her inner turmoil, Draco and Harry pushed their chairs away from the table. She followed their lead, balancing on shaking legs.

Draco's hand steadied her. "I'll take you back to the Manor. I'm sure you're eager to practice."

"I-" Hermione fumbled, mouth opening and closing.

A flash of worry pulled tight across his forehead. His fingers fell from her arm.

Harry cleared his throat, a red flush on his cheeks that mirrored her own. "I've got to get home to Ginny. Stay in touch with regards to your training, and remember what we spoke about."

"Thank you." In spite of all Harry's help, Hermione found only a brief smile to send toward him, and even that felt false, marred by her budding dread and the rapid thrumming of her heart.

Finally alone with Draco, she could sense properly the dangerous energy in his rigid posture. He appeared as though he'd swallowed flames, preparing to light the street up in his anger.

"You can't run from me. Not again."

Instead of chilling her blood, the words turned to burning embers in her veins. Her wolf purred at the challenge, willed her to bolt, just to feel the thrill of having him chase her.

Looking away, she forced her desire into a locked box, shelved amongst the rest of her secrets.

"Who says I'm trying to run?"

"Don't lie to me, Granger," he growled. "I can smell it, and it drives me insane."

Steadying her breathing, she announced, "You're right. I'd like to go home."

"Not until we talk."

She scoffed at the way his demand wound around her bones, smothering in its toxic control. It clawed at her independent sensibilities, and she should have felt repulsed. But instead, her wolf ached for him to take charge.

Antagonized by self-loathing, Hermione's jaw snapped toward him. "Fine. Should we start with how you were a Death Eater? Or perhaps about your thoughts on blood-purity?"

Her words slapped him; his lips parted and brows knitted together as his heated eyes narrowed. And when his fingers wrapped around her arm again, escorting her toward the Floo like she posed a flight risk, she didn't know if she should feel frightened or guilty as the telltale green flash absorbed them.

  
  
  
  
  
  



	7. Chapter 7

**Secrets of the Moon**   
_Chapter 7_

The Floo spat them onto the Persian carpet in Draco’s study. Mere days ago, she’d been enthralled by Malfoy Manor. Now, woven within the carpet fibers and memorialized in the moving portraits, she saw only spilled blood, a mausoleum of privilege erected from violence.

Draco spun her, long fingers still secured around her wrist like a cuff, and the tip of her nose nearly collided with his chest. With his free hand, Draco lifted her face, and from this angle— staring up at the sharp curve of his jaw—the menacing potential in their size discrepancy felt all the more threatening. 

Hermione watched as a war suspended in his grey irises—anger and guilt, fire and ice—melding and churning. She stiffened, held her breath, and waited to see which won. Then, all at once, his face lost any trace of discernible emotion.

Grey eyes became a void. His face pinched, tight and severe, features turned to marble all except for the brief flare of his nostrils. 

“This isn’t how I anticipated telling you.” His voice may as well have been made of marble too.

Her own anger—which she’d momentarily forgotten while watching the dance of emotion in his eyes—surged against his clinical tone, a flood of heat and tar scorching her insides in protest of his hollow-sounding words. 

Hermione yanked her wrist away, much to her wolf’s dismay, and put a step of space between them, crossing her arms to refrain from shaking his humanity loose from wherever he’d concealed it. 

“And how exactly, did you _anticipate_ telling me?” She asked, not because she particularly cared about the answer—she didn’t think so, at least—but because she’d much rather fight against fire than ice. 

“Telling you that I used to take orders from a sociopath intent on systemically ridding the world of muggles doesn’t exactly lend itself to appropriate introductory conversation, does it?” 

His flat delivery made her jaw snap shut so hard the sound reverberated in her eardrums. “You never actually anticipated telling me.” 

“The only thing I didn’t _anticipate_ was Potter telling you over a cup of coffee.” She could almost hear his sneer, trapped just below the stony plane of his face. “I had planned to tell you. Eventually. You’ll have to excuse me if I’ve been too caught up dealing with your being so utterly afraid of everything.” 

The bite behind his words bore deeper without any facial expression to temper it. No charming smirk to indicate his teasing, no quirked eyebrow to show his disdain. Not even a pursing of lips, nor a sucking of teeth. 

She thought about lying, declaring _I wasn’t afraid,_ in the same indignant tone she reserved for arguments she'd already lost. But Draco wasn’t human. He’d smell the bitterness of her lies.

Draco clasped his hands behind his back. “Well, get on with it. I’m sure you have questions. You always do.” 

Hermione stiffened, her previous bravado peeling from her inflamed bones, the fur beneath her skin coming to heel, leaving behind only a bewildering disorganization of thoughts: confusion steeped in rage.

But why exactly _was_ she angry? It was hard to remember while breathing in Draco’s scent—burnt pine and heady musk. She tried to think back to Harry’s warning, his admission of Draco’s participation in the war: _The Malfoy family is cunning and manipulative... self-serving... power-hungry._

Hermione followed that trail of anger, followed its fire down her veins to its root, and at its birthplace, she found a question: What if she weren’t _pure?_ She’d never know if her mother had been more wolf than woman, or if she even wielded magic. And what of her father? Had he just been another lowly muggle?

And would this have made her unworthy of her own magic in Draco Malfoy’s eyes? Would he have called her nasty names as a child, and fought for her death as an adult? 

Hermione felt like a fraud surrounded by the ancestral grandeur of Malfoy Manor. Unlike Draco, she’d never have the privilege of answering questions about her bloodline—her ancestors weren't moving in golden picture frames on the walls of her cabin. Her ancestors were all dead. 

Between Draco’s questionable past and his absurd interest in her future, he bewildered Hermione to the point of madness. Because all this time Draco—charming, protective, handsome Draco—had made her feel as though she belonged, made magic so accessible, shattered doors and reached out his hand to pull her through. She’d followed, put aside her reservations and trusted, for once. But his life had proved him capable of hatred, and as he stood before her now, he still proved capable of hiding away his humanity with cruel precision, at the very least. 

“Well?” Draco shifted, breaking the spell of her jumbled thoughts. 

_Well._ Where did one reasonably begin when accusing an alpha of committing hate crimes and of manipulating her for reasons he’d yet to share? 

Draco took another step closer and leaned over her, consuming her personal space, breathing ice against her neck. 

“You were a Death Eater,” Hermione began, trying to hide the wobble of her tone behind false confidence. 

“That’s not a question.” Draco released another breath, this one coating her forehead, sliding down her nose, disappearing against her lips. “You know I was.”

“And you fought for Voldemort.”

“Yes.” 

“Why?” 

He didn’t want to answer, that much was obvious from his clenched fists, so tight she feared she’d soon smell blood. “It was best for the pack.” 

“And for yourself?” 

“I always do what’s in the best interest of the pack,” he said, his voice an insidious parasite sliding over her skin, leaching warmth from her spine. 

Her anger made her relentless. She toed closer, stealing another inch of space between them, and asked, “Even when it goes against your personal beliefs?” 

“It rarely does.” 

The air soured a touch, spilled milk left in the sun too long. Hermione’s nose crinkled. 

“But you defected—Harry said you spied for the Order.” 

“I did.” Clipped. Controlled. 

“But _why_?”

“I’ve already told you the driving motivation behind my decisions.” 

For a moment, her anger flared in riotous waves at his inability to sound even remotely apologetic. “So you didn’t actually care about what the Order was fighting for?”

_Leading the witness_ , her wolf said in a low, bored tone between her ears. 

Draco didn’t respond. Rather, his eyes scanned her face. She remembered a white wolf in the forest; his eyes had demanded control and order, both of which she still refused to give. 

Their minutes-long staring contest ended with his simple analysis: “You haven’t asked the questions you really want to.” 

Her tongue felt dry as she clicked it against the roof of her mouth. “You’ve barely answered the ones I _have_ asked—”

“But you’ve already learned this all from Potter. I don’t understand why you’re—” his mouth locked shut before he completed his thought. His eyes narrowed, still actively searching hers. Evidently, he’d found something interesting, because his face flashed with an emotion she couldn’t place. “You don't like my answers.” 

Hermione huffed, nails elongating slightly, digging into her thigh. The audacity of this man, to think his monotone words and clinical answers could suffice what she needed.

His eyes remained fixed on her. “Why keep asking questions if you know you aren’t going to like my responses?” 

Now, she nearly laughed. Nearly launched into a comprehensive explanation of what being a lawyer meant, how her whole life was always tied to a series of questions: those she could answer, those she couldn’t, those that, with the right manipulation, could win battles—none of which relied upon whether she’d particularly _liked_ the answers. 

“I’m giving you the chance to defend yourself.”

He took a step back then—a harsh, sudden movement, almost a stumble—neither graceful nor poised. Her face felt bare without his breath suspended over her skin, her only reminder he was, in fact, living behind his statuesque coldness. 

He closed his eyes, taking a small, shuddering breath, and she could sense him trying to maintain control. “I can’t defend any part of my past actions. Not a single solitary decision, and I won’t pretend to make justifications so you can feel better in my presence.”

Her lips parted. It was an unexpected answer, to be sure, not an apology, rather, a statement that may have caused whispers in a courtroom. But it still lacked the pain or anger or guilt—any feeling at all—that she wanted, no _needed,_ to see. 

Her patience snapped. Hermione closed the last inch of space between them and pressed a finger to his heart, continuing to blow on charcoal and wishing for ignition.

“Why did you take the dark mark?” 

“I wanted to.” 

The air turned rancid. 

“You expect me to believe that?”

Her words finally caused a spark in his eyes, a brief flash. A brief victory. Instinct asked her to remove her finger from his chest, but when she tried, his hand wrapped around her wrist, locking her into place and introducing a new ingredient to her already overflowing brew of anger and confusion: longing. 

His tone turned low and steely, and she felt the words in his chest as he spoke. “Are you entitled to more?”

Each fiber of her muscles rattled beneath her skin, and if she could have launched forward and grabbed his neck, she might have. But her chest already nearly touched his, and her wolf— awake and shouting commands in her ears—warned, _you’re threatening an alpha._

“If you could simply be honest with me about your past. Help me understand.” 

Hermione continued to stare. As though if she just looked at the patch of skin under his jaw long enough, or perhaps figured out the precise degree to which his eyelashes curled, she'd crack the code, break through. Find life beneath marble. 

Brought to her edge by his tight-lipped silence, she finally asked the question she hated to admit bothered her most: “What’s in this for you?” 

Her question shocked him; she could see it in the way his pupils enlarged, and his breathing quickened. Apparently, he hadn’t anticipated this either. 

“Excuse me?”

Hermione simply lifted a brow, as if to say, _you heard me._

He straightened his shoulders, and her finger fell from his chest. “This case is very important to the pack-”

Bitterness infiltrated the air. 

“If this were just about the bloody case, you would have sent me maps and legal documents and met with me once a week and been done with it, like all my other clients. You’ve known me less than a week and yet you’re already obsessively focused on helping me.” She waited for a response that didn’t come. “Well?”

He remained silent. 

Angrier now, she demanded, “What’s in this for you?” 

Her words were met with more silence. Not even a twitch of his lip nor eyes. 

The room blurred in her rage. 

“Right.” She ripped off the cloak he’d gifted her and threw it on the couch. “I’ve had enough of this.” 

Storming over to the fireplace, she eyed the bowl of floo powder. How hard could it be? The magic in her veins burned against the underside of her skin, fueled by a rage she hadn’t allowed herself to feel in years. She grabbed a fistful of powder, just as she’d seen Draco do numerous times. See? She wasn’t afraid of everything. 

“Wait—” he said, long legs carrying him forward, arms outstretched as though to catch a falling glass. 

“Hermione Granger’s house!” She yelled, and she threw down the powder using every ounce of confusion and hurt and untamed magic that longed for release. 

A green light surged around her, the familiar stretch of her body winding through soot-filled space, and maybe even time, before tossing her into her living room.

A moment later, her fireplace whirred, and Draco, looking newly disheveled, his hair tousled, and robes astray, took a hard step toward her, old floorboards creaking under his weight. 

“Are you mad? You could have hurt yourself.”

A bitter, exasperated noise caught in Hermione’s tightening airways. “Why do you care?” 

Before she could find his eyes, his face contorted and he looked down at the worn throw rug. “You’re my responsibility—” 

“Responsibility?” For however soft her voice sounded, it could have broken ceramic. She feared that if she yelled, she’d finally lose control of her beast. “You think _I'm_ _your_ _responsibility?_ I don’t know anything about what your intentions are for me, or why you've decided to help me when my blood may well be as impure as those you wished dead. And you think I’m _your_ responsibility?”

Draco took another step toward her, but the move looked more like a reflex he immediately regretted making. 

“Without my assistance you would have continued to live in fear—” 

“The only thing I’m afraid of right now is you!”

The room drained of air. He opened his mouth, words balancing on his tongue, half-formed and nearly visible. The skin around his eyes creased— a wince?—but he chose to keep his lips pressed into a thin line. 

“You have nothing to say for yourself?”

So soft that she wondered if the words had even been meant for her at all, Draco said, “I can’t answer in the way you want me to.” 

“No, you can answer. You just won’t. You’re hiding—” 

“Fine. I won’t. What difference does it make?” 

_Everything_ , Hermione almost screamed. Her bones shook. Her house, which normally provided comfort, felt stifling; the stagnant air pinched her skin, and the walls felt too small to contain both her and Draco. The roof may well have touched her hair, and the floorboards pressed upwards against her legs. 

“Get out of my house.”

“Hermione, please—”

“Leave. Now.”

The greys of his eyes were swallowed by the black expanse of rapidly growing pupils, magma breaking ice. And finally, he chose anger. Inches from his face, she could see the beast in his eyes, untamed and hungry. 

She felt his hot breath enter her own lungs as he said, “You can’t order me to do anything.”

“Only one of us can release our wolf.” Hermione rolled her shoulders, and a bone in her neck cracked. “I’m not in your pack. I’m certainly not your responsibility. And I’m ordering you to leave.” 

For a moment, it looked like he would refuse her request. Neither moved. His eyes, finally freed and alight with craving, roved her body, dared her to embrace the dangerous current lingering in their air around them. He looked torn, suspended between beast and man. She continued allowing her blood to boil, remaining mere moments from transformation, her beast pressed against the underside of her skin, bones ready to break free. 

There was, however, no need. Draco reached for a sack of floo powder in his pocket and, without turning his back, eyes always hunting, took two steps toward the fireplace. 

When he left, the heat drained from the room and the walls seemed to grow, towering over her once more. She heard nothing but the wild thrumming of her heartbeat and the uncomfortable sensation of her blood on the precipice of transformation. 

Unable to ignore the voice in her head screaming for release, Hermione ran toward the door, unbuttoning her blouse and tugging off pant legs as the forest entered her vision. Bones cracked. Teeth elongated. Fur burst through flesh. 

Whether trying to escape her overwhelming anger or forget her confusion, it didn't matter; without her permission, her human emotions followed her deep into the woods.

* * *

Over the next two days, several owl’s arrived, each carrying a letter (or two, or four) addressed to her. 

When the first owl rapt at her window, she’d been intrigued, having never before been so close to the beautiful creatures. Its feathers were jet black, eyes perfect circles, reminiscent of a full moon. The owl carried a rolled-up parchment in its talons, her first indication that it was not a simple woodland creature. 

She cracked the window, and the bird swooped in, landing on her coffee table. She took the parchment, fingers lightly tracing the exaggerated cursive scrawl, and unsealed the emerald green wax with shaking hands. 

_Dear Hermione,_ _  
_ _I 'd like to discuss our disagreement at greater length if you’d please allow me_ _another chance..._ _  
_ _  
_She groaned, and the owl edged away from her, large eyes distrusting of the strangled noise that escaped her throat.

She looked at the unblinking creature, its body inert. Waiting. How did one reasonably send an owl away? Was she supposed to direct it somewhere? 

“Er-go home,” she motioned her hand toward the window, “shoo.” 

The owl flew into her kitchen. 

Her bare feet smacked against the cold wooden floors as she followed. “Am I required to feed you, or something?” 

When the owl didn’t respond, unblinking moon eyes still passing judgment of her, she laughed to herself. Talking to an owl. Her life had spiraled into an unmanageable disaster. 

She opened her refrigerator and pulled out a leftover piece of roast. The owl chirped, taking the meat, then looked back at her expectantly. 

“I’m not responding to him if that’s what you’re waiting for.” She crossed her arms as if to show the creature her resolve. Draco had his chance to speak, and he’d chosen instead to turn into a statue - albeit a beautiful one, reminiscent of those in museums - but glacial nonetheless. 

Whether the owl understood her or not, she’d never know, because it chose that moment to extend its wings and exit her home. She shut the window behind it in swift victory.

Her interactions with the second, third, and tenth owls did not prove nearly as charming. 

They knocked at her windows, waking her during the early hours of morning. They tapped in incessant rhythmic clicks against the glass. They dropped Draco’s letters—each sealed with emerald green wax, and written upon in lovely, looping script—at her doorways and down her chimney. 

The correspondence stopped sounding cordial after the first two letters. The next few started: “ _DO NOT USE YOUR WAND. It’s dangerous without training...”_

Another simply said: _“I’ll send Potter over to retrieve your wand if you do not..._ ” 

And her personal favorite: _“I’m looking for a new lawyer to represent me. Effective immediately.”_

The sixth owl found her at work, tapping on the conference room window during a meeting. 

“Would you look at that, a real owl!” Her client—a middle aged man divorcing his wife and refusing to pay alimony—interrupted her. 

“Yes, would you look at that.” She tried to act shocked but ended up sounding angrier than anything else. The glances she’d gotten when she far too violently closed the curtains made the rest of her meeting awkward. 

Work, outside of frequent owl interruptions, wasn’t going any better. Each time she opened the files on Malfoy's case, she became too furious to concentrate. She’d hardly been able to look at a map or deed before her brain descended toward madness. 

How dare he be so arrogant.

_He’s an alpha_ , her wolf chastised, as if that were a good enough reason to warrant such behavior. 

How dare he not explain his beliefs before entangling her in his world. 

_Did you give him a fair chance to explain?_ Her wolf scorned, much to Hermione’s irritation, and she very much hoped that the temperature of her boiling blood gave her wolf a heat stroke. 

How dare he hide his emotions from her, after she’d practically begged for them. 

_There are healthier ways you two could have released your anger,_ her wolf admonished and then started the mental onslaught: flashes of pale skin under her hands, warm breath against her neck. Images that made her wolf grin. Images that prompted Hermione to shut Malfoy's case file, burying it under stacks of books, not to be touched for the remainder of the day. Or week. Or perhaps year, if Draco was really searching for a new lawyer. 

The night that the twelfth—or maybe it was the thirteenth?—owl rapt at her living room window, awaking her at a time meant only for the most nocturnal of creatures, she couldn’t drag herself back to bed. When she finally managed to usher the owl out, only after parting with her last piece of an exquisitely aged _Comté_ , she lay on the couch. Thoroughly exhausted, she ran her hands over the envelope, debating whether she should even bother opening it. 

The loneliness in her chest wanted to read his words, to see them carefully spelled out against parchment meant for her eyes only. To hear him beg her for another chance.

Her anger wanted to watch the paper dissolve into flame, to forget the last week and return to a time of relative normalcy. To before Draco Malfoy hunted her. To before she’d let her curiosity get the best of her. To before she’d betrayed her biological mother’s one sided oath; _stay hidden, and safe._

Her eyes cast toward her wand, where it still rested on her coffee table, untouched in the days after her fight. And while she longed for befores, and debated on whether to read the letter or burn it, her eyelids, heavy after two restless nights, closed without her consent. 

Her dreams transported her to Draco’s office; this time the lights remained dimmed, and his scent—that strong, undeniable, delicious pine infused musk—coated the air. She followed it, wanting to be nearer to the source, to feel it against her skin. Her blood sang in rhythmic lullabies, warmth pooling at the junction of her thighs as her bare feet padded toward the pull of Draco’s alluring tenor: _Come. Closer._

The room blurred at the edges of her vision, a haziness overtaking the room; The furniture shimmered, taking on an ethereal quality that threatened to dissolve at any moment. She floated toward the sounds coming from his hidden library. Toward him. She stepped through the archway. A growl. A gasp of breath. A slap of skin. 

A woman’s moan. 

Anger replaced the swelling heat in Hermione’s core. She raised her wand, eyes focused on the smooth back of the woman straddling Draco, his arms wrapped around her waist, her black bob bouncing, the leather couch bowing under their weight. Sparks flew. 

A loud crash pulled Hermione from her dream. Sweat plastered curls to her forehead, and she sat straight, breath catching as her surroundings crystalized. Back in her cabin. Alone. Electricity sparked up her arm; her eyes followed the feeling past her elbow, down to her wrist. 

Her wand twitched in her fingers. Its tip pointed at the carpet, at where her coffee table once stood. Now, there lay nothing more than a broken ceramic mug, its contents spilled on an old throw rug. A wooden miniature of her table sat in its place. She rolled forward and kneeled, placing the comically small piece of furniture in her palm. 

Lovely. 

Bloody lovely. 

She placed the shrunken coffee table back on the rug, in hopes that whatever nonsense she’d caused would reverse itself by morning. 

It didn’t. 

And so, by the third day since her fight with Draco, a particularly long and terrible day that culminated in her crying on the commute home, a day where she grasped at the fraying ends of her rope, there came a knock at her door while she prepared dinner. Not the typical click of talons or beaks, but a hard, sturdy fist against solid wood. 

She turned off the stove and placed her knife on the chopping board. 

Another knock, this one followed by a deep voice that penetrated the door. 

“Hermione, we need to talk.” 

She walked to the door, arm outstretched, pressing her fingers against the wood with a sigh. An odd, weightless sensation replaced the tightness in her chest, nearly making her feel sick. 

“I already gave you an opportunity to defend yourself,” she breathed against the oak, hoping the sound carried enough so he could hear. 

“You did. And I feel I wasted my opportunity.”

“For once, we’re in agreement.” 

A pause, followed by a thump on the upper part of the door. His forehead, perhaps? 

“Please, I ask only for one more chance to explain myself.” A pause. “I know you’re curious.”

Her curiosity. A weapon he’d wielded against her before. She turned and pressed her back against the thin barrier separating them. Barring him out, or keeping herself in, she didn’t know. She squeezed her eyes shut. 

_Let him in._

“Go away, Draco.” 

She heard his weight shift, the creaking porch revealing his movement toward the stairs. Toward the drive. Away, just as she’d commanded.

She heard him take the first two stairs, the wood groaning in rickety gasps under his muscular frame. Then, his voice, carrying an uncharacteristic tumble of strangled words, called out, “Do you really think I’d hurt you?” 

He sounded raw, freshly gutted, belly slashed and contents spilled on her drive. The weightless sensation in her stomach plummeted, landing below her gut with heavy absolution. Guilt dictated she open the door and correct the man who’d delivered such broken words to her front porch. 

She pulled the door open, leaning against the frame, fingers clutching the wood like a shield. “I never said that.”

He swallowed. “I believe you explicitly said you were afraid of me. That you believe my intentions are to hurt you was heavily implied.”

Hermione could read Draco’s nervous energy from where she stood, his face unmasked but weary. It shocked her to see that he did not wear the stark dress clothes he presented to the rest of the world. Instead, he wore a forest green knit sweater and dark slacks. The hair on his jaw had grown, its light shadow smoothing the sharp angles of his face. 

The look was decidedly less polished. Her wolf approved, and loath as she felt to admit it, so did she. 

“Only because you won’t tell me what your intentions actually are.”

“Do I need a reason to want to help?”

“No. But you have one.”

His eyes darkened. Heart quickened. Confirmation. 

Hermione continued, “And I assume since you’re groveling at my doorstep, you’ve conceded to share it with me?”

Draco leapt onto the porch, his long legs easily clearing both stairs, his brows lifted and face a touch more hopeful. “I have a proposition—if you’ll allow me.”

When she whispered, “You have five minutes,” she blamed her curiosity, her own scapegoat in the name of bad decisions, the trait Draco already learned to wield against her. 

* * *

“Redecorating?” Draco arched a brow, tilting his head toward the floor where her miniature table all but disappeared against the patterned rug. 

Hermione opened and closed her mouth, cheeks flushing with heat, a far too common occurrence in his presence. “An accident,” she said, determined not to let her gaze flit toward the wand on her bookshelf. 

His lips quirked downward. “You could have been hurt.”

“So you’ve said.”

With all the charm Draco possessed, she struggled to discern between the pining of her animal side and his natural magnetism. Was that genuine worry in his eyes, or practiced entrapment? Even more concerning, with the last rays of sun trickling into the cabin, the picture of Draco—wearing casual clothes, arm resting along the back of her worn leather couch—felt somehow intimate. 

“I’m not good at this,” Draco finally said. 

“I’m not looking for good,” she answered. “Just honest.” 

“But you deserve good.” He rubbed a hand down his face. “It’s been a long time since I’ve had to explain myself to anyone. First and foremost, I cannot change my past. And I haven’t quite squared away that part of my life as is, so I don’t expect there is much I can say to prove my feelings of guilt,” he held up a hand when he saw her lips parting. “Guilt that I’ve very much earned.” As he stared at her, weariness tugged the corners of his lips, pulling lines across his forehead, aging him with the weight of his admission. “It’s hard for me to talk with others. But I think you understand that. Having to figure out who you are at our age, it feels lonely.” 

Hermione ingested his words, feeling their truth resonate in the marrow of her bones. She nodded for him to continue. 

“When Potter told you, about me, about my past, before I had the chance to for myself I”–he seemed to struggle with choosing the precise word –“panicked.”

“You became inhuman. You lied,” Hermione corrected. He winced, his arm falling off the back of the sofa and into his lap.

“I’m not looking for sympathy, though regrettably, I still haven’t figured out a way to answer you—”

“Why not?”

Draco shifted his eyes toward the tiny coffee table. “It’s too soon.”

Somewhere in her house, a clock chimed; six bell tolls. “Your proposition, Draco? Your five minutes are nearly up.”

“What if”—he cringed, and restarted, turning his body so his knees faced hers—“Could you go on just a bit longer without knowing what my exact intentions are...if I promise there's an answer coming soon?”

His eyes passed over her deepening frown, and he quickly added, “I’ll answer anything else you want, about my past or otherwise.”

“How long do I have to wait?”

He shook his head and repeated, “It’s too soon. There are other things I want you to learn, to see, before you can understand.”

“And in the meantime, I have no reason to fear you?”

“Of course not.”

The air, a heavy mixture of his pine scent and her vanilla lotion, turned vinegary and acidic. 

Draco flinched. “It’s not what you think. I... I’ve had a tendency to hurt things. People. The words will smell of lies, even when I mean them not to.”

And without him explaining, she understood. As a symptom of their condition, Draco could never promise goodness. Neither could she; daily she caused harm by way of omitting truth, by concealing the danger that lived beneath her skin. Her breath hitched, and Draco’s heartbeat, normally a steady rhythmic lullaby that faded into the background, sputtered in wait for her response. 

“What I can promise”— Draco hurried over the words— “is to never intentionally cause you harm.”

Hermione sunk into the weathered cushions, staring at the ceiling and waiting for the sour scent to dissipate. Weighing his words, weighing her options. One moment turned into several before she broke the strained silence. “So, I take it you haven’t actually been looking for a new lawyer?”

Draco’s shoulders relaxed, releasing a tension in his spine that she hadn’t been aware of; his arm lifted to rest once more on the back of the couch, his ears tinged a soft pink, and the motion felt so entirely human, she smiled. 

"Funny enough, I'm having trouble finding a muggle lawyer who will agree to work with a werewolf." His tone was dry, but his eyes beamed. "Besides, any lawyer who can get a confession from me isn't easily replaced."

“I haven’t gotten one out of you yet,” she corrected. 

“You’re so very close, though.” 

“Your five minutes are up.” 

He stood, straightening his sweater—out of vain habit, she was sure—and he took a step toward the fireplace. “I’ll be here tomorrow morning to retrieve you.”

“Retrieve me?”

“To practice your magic. We’ve lost three whole days.”

Draco tilted his head, and his smirk–the one that sent her dreams into overdrive, slowly, beguilingly, methodically–unfurled on his face. He shook out floo powder into his palm. 

“Wait, Draco,” Hermione said, just before he’d thrown the powder against her hearth. “Could you, um—” she motioned her hand toward the tiny coffee table. 

His brow lifted, and she could see playful tension around his eyes. “Looks like you need to learn the engorgement charm. Such a pity it’s a bit advanced—we won’t be there in our lessons for at least a few weeks.” 

“But—”

Draco disappeared in a puff of green smoke, leaving Hermione to stare in abject resentment at her tiny coffee table. She was left to face the overwhelming prospect that she would never again return to the normalcy of life before Draco Malfoy. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to thank Mightbewriting and Icepower55 for helping me get this chapter out, for talking me through my many meltdowns, and for teaching me so much about writing. I can't say enough about how lovely and amazing they are. Both have new stories out, so if you haven't read them GO DO THAT! :D 
> 
> For everyone who left kudos, comments, and reached out to me, I can't thank you enough for sticking with me and providing unbelievable support. As always, comments, kudos, criticisms, and predictions are ALWAYS welcome here. Hang out with me on tumblr if you're there. Mightbewriting made a pretty for this chapter and I'm in awe of it <3 
> 
> Until next time lovelies!  
> Endless_musings


	8. Chapter 8

**Secrets of the Moon**   
_Chapter 8_

  
  


“This isn’t working,” Hermione groaned, shaking her wand, as if to remove every minuscule trace of magic that eluded her. 

Though he’d never admit it, Draco agreed with her; three hours into their lesson and Hermione had yet to produce a single spark of magic to show for their efforts. A pink flush crept up her neck and Draco suspected she was the sort of person who didn’t often struggle to get something right. 

“If you’d just listen to my instructions,” Draco said, trying to keep his voice light, but his words held an air of paternal nagging that reminded him of his father and therefore grated his nerves. 

“I _am_ listening.” 

“Well then you’re not applying the directions I’m giving. May I?” He walked behind her, and when she nodded her approval, he gripped her wrist, placing his hand over hers. “Your wrist is too straight. You need to loosen up a bit.”

“What does that even mean?” Hermione’s voice trailed up toward the end, suspiciously close to a whine. 

Once his skin made contact with hers, however, his breath stuttered, nerve endings igniting and burning. 

_Ours. Only ours. Only ours..._

They’d been doing this dance all morning, his draw to her personal space, and her reluctant yielding of it. His skin tingling upon contact, her heart fluttering in enticing beats. And as his fingers massaged the tension from her hand, he noticed his nose inching closer to her wild tangle of curls, closer to the delicious scent that emanated from each strand. One more step, and she’d fit perfectly against his chest. It made him wonder what it’d feel like to wrap his hands around more than just her wrist. To further entangle her in his life, bonding her soul to his. 

_Run with her. Keep her. Mark her._

_Too soon,_ he chastised his inner beast. 

But as his eyes followed the curve of her neck, past her chin, all the way to where her lip caught between her teeth, he could barely keep himself from commanding her to stay forever. 

Draco demonstrated the charm again, an exaggerated flick with the precision of a waltz, his fingers teaching hers. 

“Feel,” he said into her ear. “Don’t overthink.” 

He watched her muscles melt under the taut pull of his own. Grudgingly, he pried his fingers from hers; he didn’t hide his smile at her sharp exhale. 

“Try again.” 

_“Wingardium leviosa,”_ she said, concentration etched into the space between her eyebrows. Despite impeccable form, the feather on his desk remained unmoved. 

Hermione groaned, the sound so close to a growl that he imagined her wolf scolding the lack of progress as well. It rattled Draco’s confidence. 

“Why isn’t this working?” Hermione voiced the question that plagued him. 

He took another step closer, wanting to place his hand on her shoulder. Soothing himself—his wolf, too—more so than her, he imagined. Each touch held the potential for danger; maybe this time he wouldn’t be able to let go. So instead, his hand wavered awkwardly over her before he crossed his arms and leaned against his desk. 

“Perhaps you’ve tried to suppress your magic for so long that it’ll take time to be able to channel it properly.” 

“Perhaps I’m not a witch.” 

Draco arched his brow. “Perhaps you lack confidence.” 

“Perhaps I’ll only ever be able to use magic when I’m angry.” 

“I’d rather not test that theory.” He absently rubbed his jaw, remembering just how powerful an angry Hermione could be. “We could try—”

A knock at the door interrupted. Hermione reacted to his tight posture, and shot him a panicked glance. A moment later, his study door swung open.

His mother, swathed in emerald robes and sporting all manner of precious gems, walked into his study with measured, elegant steps. Pansy Parkinson and Astoria Greengrass followed closely behind. 

Astoria flashed a charming smile; a practiced grin that simpered, meant to dazzle, one with intent beyond pleasantries. He very much wished she wasn’t wasting it on him. His wolf commanded his muscles, directing him to take a step in front of Hermione. 

Pansy’s eyes glimmered, assessing the statistical potential for drama; highly likely, he suspected. It felt like being in the Slytherin common room all over again. 

“Draco, darling, I didn’t know you had company,” Narcissa said. 

Draco saw Hermione’s nose twitch in response to the rancid scent of his mother’s lie, like an apple left to rot. 

“Well, don’t be rude. Aren’t you going to introduce us, Draco?” 

“Ms. Granger.” Draco kept his feet planted, shielding Hermione from their visitor’s direct line of sight. “This is my mother, Narcissa Malfoy. You’ve already met Ms. Parkinson. And”—his eyes slid to where Astoria still beamed at him, a practiced smile plastered on flawless skin—“And this is Ms. Astoria Greengrass.”

Draco smelled Hermione’s fear, her adrenaline, which activated his more primal, covetous instincts. But she stepped out from behind him, a bold move punctuated by the lift of her chin and unapologetic eye contact; brave despite her concealed anxiety. He swallowed his wolf’s growl. 

“It’s a pleasure to meet you all. Please, call me Hermione.” Her wrist did not bend as she offered her hand, an unintended faux pas, and her firm offering made all three women cringe. 

His mother’s eyes looked positively dangerous when they met his. 

“How is it that you know Draco...Ms.”—Narcissa frowned—“Granger was it?” The question searched, then accused, then reached forward and wound around Hermione’s show of bravery, an inquiry meant to snare and humiliate. Hermione was on trial, and Draco feared her unprepared for this particular courtroom.

Draco answered before Hermione could cast her hand. “She’s our solicitor.” 

Astoria’s shoulders lowered at this new information, her smile growing a touch kinder. Draco tried not to sneer. “We’re working on matters related to the land dispute. To what do we owe the honor of your visit, mother?”

“We were just catching up over tea and the topic of our recent home renovations were brought up.”

Home renovations. Forced by the family need to remove what had been broken during war, objects or otherwise. 

“And you decided to start with my private study?” 

“I hear you expanded the gardens.” Astoria’s voice sparkled, and if he hadn’t intimately known what lay underneath her pretty tone, he’d almost be entranced. “Narcissa has been raving about your design skills.” 

“I didn’t do any of the work, merely offered suggestions.” His dry tone caused his mother’s eye to twitch. 

“Oh nonsense, Draco. You’re more gifted than you give yourself credit,” Narcissa said.

His mother smiled fondly at Astoria, and Draco knew wedding plans brewed in her head. “Draco, darling. Won’t you escort Astoria to see the changes you’ve made?”

“Unfortunately, I’m quite busy—”

Hermione interrupted him, and his mother’s eye twitched again. “I can always reschedule, Draco.”

_She’s running again_ , his wolf warned, triggering his natural response to shift closer to her. 

“No.” His teeth bared without his consent. “That’s hardly necessary.” 

“Draco,” Pansy said, stepping forward. “I don’t suspect it’ll take you too long to tour the gardens. Why don’t I keep Ms. Granger company until you get back? This way you can still finish your meeting if it's so important.”

The flash of Pansy’s gaze and the flit of her painted lips made him certain she’d somehow planned this in advance. 

Hermione opened her mouth to object, but Narcissa spoke first. 

“Then it’s settled.” Narcissa looked Hermione up and down, a victory lap in the form of a glare. “Come along, Draco.”

His chest clenched as he forced his wolf to heel, lest he snap at his mother in front of company. 

_Don’t leave her. She’s unprotected._

Evidently, it distressed Hermione as well. The pounding of her heart overwhelmed him, called to him; a lone howl tearing through a dark forest. But his cards were spent; disobeying his mother would only emphasize Hermione’s importance. 

_I have no choice._

At the door to the study, Astoria waited for him. Sucking in a deep breath, he took his first unwilling step away from Hermione, then another: a painful exercise in willpower. Slowly he made his way to the door, hands folded; he wouldn’t allow Astoria the opportunity to touch him. 

Before leaving the room, Draco took one final glance back at Hermione. He hated the look on her face; anxious, and a touch confused. And most of all, abandoned. 

* * *

  
  


“Do you drink, Granger?” Pansy asked, pushing her short hair behind her ear. What Hermione suspected to be real diamonds sparkled against her black strands. 

Hermione had still been staring toward the door, toward where Draco had left her. He’d barely put up any fight at all. His mother had spoken and then... She didn’t quite understand what happened. 

“Not often,” Hermione responded, thinking of the last time she had a drink—finely aged wine from the Malfoy cellars as Draco taught her of magic over dinner. 

“So you do.” Pansy walked toward the bar in the far corner of Draco’s study. She was clearly comfortable in this room, had walked it’s blood-stained floors and poured herself countless drinks before. 

“I couldn’t possibly right now. It’s not even noon yet—”

“And?” 

Not trusting the other woman, Hermione followed her towards the bar, resigned to the fact that Pansy Parkinson—whoever this intimidating, mysterious woman was—did not seem like someone who allowed others to get their way. 

“I can pour it myself,” Hermione said a touch too fast, words laced with heavy suspicion. 

_Subtle_ , her wolf taunted. 

Pansy rolled her eyes. “If I wanted to poison you, I wouldn’t waste good liquor.” She opened one of the bottles, jostling a clear liquid. “Sit, I’ll make you a real drink, free of poison.”

Reluctantly, she did as Pansy commanded, taking a seat on a nearby sofa, craning her neck to observe her drink being poured. 

When Pansy returned, black-painted nails clicking against two martini glass stems, Hermione’s stomach lurched. She never could handle straight grain alcohols. Pansy lowered herself into the hideous, ornate chair opposite her. 

“Hermione Granger.” Pansy tasted the words, then took a sip of her drink to wash them down her throat. “This is the second time I’ve seen Draco by your side. You’d make a lot of women jealous if they knew.”

Hermione sputtered into her drink, cough disturbing the alcohol and sending it spilling over the edge. The drink might have well been poisonous. “What do you mean?” 

“Simply, that it's abnormal for Draco to accompany a woman outside of courting, though many would be absolutely thrilled to have the opportunity. Surely even _you_ understand his status makes him quite desired.”

But Hermione still struggled to understand Pansy’s meaning, and the first few sips of alcohol soaking into her brain weren’t helping clarify matters. What did Pansy know of their situation? Of her situation, specifically? Draco trusted Pansy with the Floo connection, but did they speak often? Her wolf cautioned her to tread carefully, and for once, she felt aligned with the advice. 

“He’s my client.” She chose the safest answer, and took a large gulp of her drink, anticipating the liquor's warmth to fight Pansy’s frigid tone. 

“No need to be coy. I visited Draco a few days ago and found him more a mess than usual.” Pansy smirked at whatever she assessed on Hermione’s face. Likely shock, closely followed by the beginnings of envy. 

Pansy crossed her ankles and tipped her glass toward Hermione in a way that made her wonder how long it took to train such graceful movements, to wield a martini glass as both bait and a weapon. “I must say, I was rather stunned when I learned the person who hurt Draco was _you._ No one fights with an alpha and wins. I’ve seen them kill lions, if provoked.”

_Show her. Show her what you’re capable of._

Jealousy felt unnatural to Hermione. Loud in her ears. Hot and prickly and foreign in her chest. It forced her eyes over Pansy’s impeccable posture, dainty yet firm. Her soft lips, cruel yet feminine. Her expensive taste, diamonds sparkling against black silk. 

Women like Pansy unsettled Hermione, irrationally so. During a week when she already felt tilted, off-balance in her own skin, she was suddenly brought back to her grade school days, comparing her messy curls and unfortunate overbite to the Astorias and Pansys of the world. 

Pansy ran a tongue along her teeth from under her lips. “Normal witches wouldn’t mind having a former Death Eater, you know. Money is money, and the Malfoy’s have loads of it. It’s the werewolf part that most scares women outside the pack.” She dragged a painted nail along the rim of her glass. “But not you.” 

Hermione froze. Her wolf took control of her spine, forcing her to sit pin straight. Larger. More intimidating. All a ruse. “I haven’t the slightest at what you’re implying.”

A sly smirk stretched across Pansy’s face, like Hermione’s very presence existed only for her amusement. “So, how is it that Draco convinced you to take on this case?”

“Due to client confidentiality, I can’t say.” 

Pansy rolled her eyes. “You do know I’m breaking the law for you, right? The least you can do is give me the information Draco won’t. He’s oddly protective of you.”

_See, he’s protective of us_.

A bubble of warmth bloomed in her stomach. Hermione shivered against the unbidden intrusion and prayed Draco would soon return to save her from this hell. 

Pansy tutted, forcing her glare upon Hermione. “He deserves more than you, you know.”  
  
“Excuse me?” The implication stung more than the insult of Pansy’s statement. “He’s my client, I’d never—” 

“It’s not because you’re an outsider, ” Pansy continued, ignoring her. “Not because you’re some sort of quasi-muggle—” Pansy nodded to the beginner charms book and feather on his desk. “Frankly, I’ve never cared about the politics of the Sacred Twenty Eight, and neither has Draco, despite the show he puts on.” She leaned forward, nails scraping against her glass like a blade. “Draco’s always deserved more than life’s afforded him.”

Hermione couldn't stop her harsh exhale that bordered on a laugh. “What else could he possibly need? He has everything.”

“You’ll be careful never to say that to _him._ ” Pansy quirked her lips and tilted her head, sending her pin straight bob off-kilter. “Or perhaps you should tell him that. I’m sure our meetings would become far less frequent.” 

“As I said before, our relationship is purely professional.”

“I’ve learned it’s best not to fight what Draco wants. He’s impossible to reason with once he’s made up his mind. But you probably already know that.” Pansy took another sip. “Dear Merlin, it seems I’m doomed to have to accept you.”

“Since he deserves more?” Hermione snapped. 

“He deserves a partner who will kill for him.” Pansy swirled the rest of her alcohol in her glass before lifting it to her pout and finishing it in one smooth sip. “Are you willing to be that, Hermione Granger?” 

Hermione’s nails elongated, and she took a breath to steady her heartbeat, to stop the influx of magic coursing too close to the tips of her fingers. 

Pansy frowned. “I’m not blind to Draco’s habits. It’s not often he’s so upset he breaks precious heirlooms and ignores potential suitors of proper breeding. Nor does he go against the wishes of his family. And he certainly doesn’t give private lessons to someone raised by muggles, or something. So”—she lifted an artfully crafted eyebrow and asked—“would you?” _  
__  
_Pansy read Hermione’s face and cast a wickedly dark glare from beneath thick eyelashes.

Hermione chugged her drink, emptying the glass. She wondered how this conversation had gotten so out of hand, had become so much in such a short period of time. 

“He’s simply my client. He means nothing to me,” Hermione repeated in the face of Pansy’s knowing grin. If Draco hadn’t already told her female werewolves were rare, she would have been certain Pansy could smell her lies. 

* * *

  
  


The next morning, Hermione recognized the whir of the floo, indicating Draco’s arrival at her cottage. She glanced at the clock and sighed. Thirty minutes early. Typical. 

“Hermione?” Draco’s voice, soft, but deep and promising and comforting, filled her tiny home. 

“I’m in here,” Hermione called from her kitchen, her own tone soft, but high pitched, and nervous, and remorseful. 

Yesterday, once he’d returned from showing Astoria the renovations, Hermione could barely look him in the eye. His button-down shirt smelled of the other woman, sickeningly sweet, like overripe strawberries and powder. She made an excuse about needing to work, and escaped through the floo. Draco didn’t hide his disappointment from her behind cool eyes and a stiff face. He’d let her see it, all of it—the furrowed brows and forlorn stare—and his sadness haunted her as she tried to sleep. 

But Pansy Parkinson’s conversation had brought to light other things that terrified her, perhaps even more so than his disappointment, things she couldn’t possibly process around him; not when she’d fought so hard against leaning into his touch. Was her draw to Draco so obvious that a stranger could see? Surely Draco’s more abrasive forms of flirting resulted merely from his overactive wolf and tendency toward control. But, where then, did hers originate? 

As Draco walked into the kitchen, his broad shoulders nearly grazed both sides of the door frame; he ducked under a low hanging planter.

“Good morning,” he said, eyes wary. 

“Good morning.” 

Hermione watched as he inspected her kitchen, which, much like the rest of the house, she considered cozy and tidy despite the clutter; the gadgets, cookbooks, and pots bursting with vibrant plants gave the impression of a full life against the truth of her solitude. Draco’s eyes flitted to a silver bucket that sat atop her counter, filled with an assortment of oddly shaped kitchen tools that she couldn’t get to fit neatly in drawers. 

Draco focused on these tools, lifting each for careful investigation. He picked one up and twisted it only twice before she snatched it from his fingers. 

“That’s a can opener.” 

Draco wore a confused, awed expression, and she chuckled. Some of her built-up tension, real and imagined, drained away.

“Do they not have those in the wizarding world, or have you just never had to cook for yourself?”

“Why cook for yourself when someone else can do it for you?” He rolled up his sleeves and walked to the kettle on the stove. “Besides, we have no use for muggle contraptions, it's far easier with magic.” 

Removing his wand from his pocket he tapped it against the kettle, and steam burst from the spout. 

She didn’t mean to gasp—really, she should be getting used to this by now—and hoped the noisy whistle drowned out the sound of her shock. 

Draco dragged a hand through his hair, smirk ever-present. “Do you cook?” 

“I do. Something I learned to ease my stress during law school. I find it calming.” Hermione frowned a moment, reaching for glass mugs—neither of which matched—to pour their tea. “I do wonder if there is a difference in quality between magical and muggle preparation.” 

Draco leaned back against her counter and crossed his arms, eyebrows lifted and head tilted in challenge. “There’s only one way to find out. I’m an excellent judge of food.” 

Hermione tipped her head back and laughed. “I’m sure most wolves are. My senses certainly seem to give me an advantage.” 

“Then it’s decided: You’ll cook for me, and I’ll be the judge of whether it’s better or worse than wizarding food.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “You can’t just invite yourself to someone’s house and demand dinner, you know.” 

When she looked up, she found Draco’s eyes boring into her, scanning her face just as he had searched her kitchen, like she was more uncharted territory to investigate and learn. 

“A man can dream.” His eyes brightened for only a moment before they faded back to a dull grey. Draco cleared his throat. “What did Pansy say to make you run?”

Her fingers faltered as she scooped dried tea leaves, scattering them over the counter. “I didn’t run,” she answered quickly. “Is black tea fine?” 

“It certainly felt like it.” 

She ignored him, ignored the tension catching on the odds and ends in her cluttered space, filling and dropping tea balls into the mugs instead. He’d have to settle for black tea. Avoiding his gaze, she handed him his mug. 

“Milk or sugar?”

“Honey, if you have it.” 

How she wished he hadn't said that. She walked past him, opening a cabinet and stared up at the honey three shelves above her. Just out of reach. 

Draco set his mug on the counter to steep and crossed the room, his body a picture of animalistic grace. He wet his lips with his tongue. 

_Your bedroom is that way_ , her wolf reminded her. 

She looked up again at the bottle of honey that taunted her, and then back toward Draco. Normally, she’d climb the counter, but she imagined it didn’t look especially graceful. 

A dangerous heat seared her skin where his eyes danced over her body. “Please continue. I’ve never been more intrigued in my life.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “You’ll have to settle for sugar if you don’t get that yourself.” 

He laughed at her threat, a melodic sound that must have originated deep in his belly, as it shook his shoulders. He stepped closer, reaching over her, around her, his chest to her front, and easily grabbed the bottle. She held her breath. 

_Keep him, please keep him—_

“There’s no magic to retrieve things?” She hated how his proximity stole the air from her lungs. 

“There is.” Draco smirked down at her —three heartbeats, she counted—before handing her the honey. 

With their tea finally prepared, she took a sip, eyes momentarily fluttering shut, but she could still sense Draco watching her every motion. 

“The full moon is in two days—” He looked hopeful, interrupting himself to take a sip of tea. “I still need to show you around our property lines, and the former Nott property.” 

“You’ve provided the maps,” she said, too sharp. Noticing the way his shoulders slumped, she took a moment to soften her next words. “I don’t know if there is any need for me to physically look, at least for right now.” 

“Then perhaps we could just meet up for a run?” 

_Yes. Run with him._

His frown made something in her gut clench, a foreign invader squeezing blood from her heart and air from her lungs. 

Hermione refused to meet his eyes, afraid it would cause her guilt to bloom. Silence felt easier, despite the way it thickened the air surrounding them, and forced a cumbersome border around the room. 

“Think on it,” Draco said, a question or a statement, she couldn’t tell, though she had reasonable suspicion that he’d read inbetween the lines of her non-answer, smelled her apprehension, and heard the tightening in her bones. 

The silence following his statement stretched on as they sipped at quickly cooling tea. She hated this time of the lunar cycle, when her emotions blended with her wolf’s, two halves on the precipice of forming one. How much of her desire was animal, purely physical, and how much was her human need for companionship? 

Draco drained his cup and set it beside the sink. He rolled his shoulders back, something warm replacing the tinge of coldness that had entered his eyes during their silence, and he offered her his hand. 

“Ready for more magic?” 

Hermione’s heart betrayed her desire to remain unaffected in his presence. The last thing she heard before taking his fingers between her own was the incessant barking of her wolf: _You know I’ll get my way._

* * *

“I’m—Draco, I didn’t mean—” 

She’d blown up his great great great aunt’s portrait. 

Hunched over in laughter, Draco grabbed his desk to stay upright. Tears of humor tickled the corners of his eyes. His cheeks hurt; his ribs hurt. It felt glorious. 

“The old hag was a miserable bitch anyway ”—Draco gasped through peals of laughter—“screaming about the will of the king, and servitude, and other seventeenth-century nonsense.”

He’d been trying to pry about her meeting with Pansy yesterday, and about her reservations transforming around him, and about how she reached things in high places, all of which sent Hermione into a slow-burning ire. The look on her face when she cast the last charm—clearly intending it not to work—only for an enraged jet of sparks to shoot out and decimate his great great great aunt, caused Draco to lose any amount of control he’d had over his amusement. 

Draco managed to breathe long enough to say, “Your magic’s returned. And to think, all it took was a little anger to open your channels.” 

The thought stole the edge of his smile, and the skin around his eyes–crinkled from joy–released. Without anger, Hermione hadn’t been able to produce a single spark. Not an iota of magic to show for all the power he felt freely flowing underneath her skin. He’d have to search the library tonight, research any instances of magical impotence in adult witches. 

“But really, what _did_ Pansy say to make you run.” 

“I didn’t run.” Hermione pushed her curls off her forehead with force. 

“Has anyone ever told you you’re maddening?” 

“No.” 

“Great great great aunt Chantelle would disagree with you if she could.” 

Hermione tugged at a strand of her hair that kept falling in front of her eye, coiling a curl around her finger, legs fidgeting, mouth pursed. If not for the fact that she drove him mad, she would have looked fucking lovely.

“Pansy alluded to a relationship between—” she trailed off, wincing as though the words physically pained her to verbalize, “—between...us, and I assured her you're just my client.” Her fingers continued to tug the ends of her curls, thrusting her scent toward him, a divine sort of torture he allowed himself a moment to savor. 

Draco smirked, leaning against his desk to keep from reaching out to her; the piece of furniture was fast becoming an anchor for him. For her sake, he should probably chain himself to it. 

“You’re lucky she can’t detect lies.” 

“Is it a lie?” Hermione chewed her lip. 

“Isn’t it?” 

“What would you call us then?” 

_Ours. Mate. Chosen._

_Too soon. Still too soon._

“If you’re comfortable with the term client, then I’m your client.” 

Hermione nodded once before turning her eyes toward the floor. Her foot recommenced bouncing. 

“Anything else?” He asked. 

Even with his heightened sense of hearing, her words sounded nearly silent in the air; “She was very protective over you.”

_Our chosen is jealous._

A swell of something akin to pride warmed his chest, and he pushed off the desk, unable to stop himself stepping toward her until he could feel her heat penetrate his clothes. He hoped to antagonize her just enough, lay bait and watch his prey squirm. “She’s one of my more trustworthy friends. I’ve known her since we were children.”

He watched her face, sifting through curls and freckles to catch her impulse toward emotion before she tucked it out of sight. The corner of her lip twitched downward. Her eyes snapped to his lips, then back to her feet. 

Draco sucked his cheeks in to keep from smiling at her obvious discomfort. If only he could tell her. 

_You’re ours._

“You have nothing to worry about.”

“That’s not”—her nose scrunched up, forming wrinkles around her eyes—“I mean I wasn’t…You’re my client.” 

_Tell her. Tell her she’s ours._

The space between them begged to be closed, begged to be relieved of the tension that pulled, sharp and agonizing, fangs across skin. His hand reached for hers, and this time, he felt no hesitation when her fingers wrapped around his. When they touched, he had no doubt she wielded potential; magnetism powered by some form of undiscovered alchemy pulsing in her blood, a whole world of unexplored magic. 

The door swung open without warning; unusual in a household with such respect for privacy. 

Draco knew his hand didn’t fall from hers in time, nor did he step away fast enough for the sight to be missed by the precise reflexes of Lucius Malfoy.

“Father.” Draco hoped his face didn’t appear too flushed. “Good morning.”

But Lucius Malfoy wasn’t staring at him. 

“Ms. Granger.”

“Mr. Malfoy.” She stood at attention, hands clasped behind her back. Even his father’s threatening presence did not stop him from noticing the way her stance pushed her breasts out, and accentuated her hips.

_Ours. Protect—_

“Do you frequently schedule meetings outside of your office?” Lucius asked, his tone taking on a soft, venomous quality reminiscent of the Dark Lord. 

_Ours. You must stop—_

“We—” Her brows furrowed, and she fidgeted under Lucius’s gaze. 

_Save her._

Draco spoke, as strong and clear as he could, “We’re meeting pertaining to research.” A small lie, perhaps adjacent enough to the truth to sneak past Lucius’s nose. 

His father walked forward, eyes sweeping over the room and landing on his desk, to where a single feather lay. He frowned. “Funny. It seems this office lacks maps and books and documents related to any necessary research.”

“We were discussing…theories.” 

“Theories?” Lucius repeated before walking around Draco’s desk and sitting at his chair, fingers reaching to lift the feather. “I’m quite interested in hearing about these theories, Ms. Granger.”

Hermione’s cheeks flushed a deep pink, the freckles across her nose disappearing. “They aren’t fully formed yet, Mr. Malfoy. I’d rather wait until—” 

“Oh, come now, don’t be modest on my behalf. If these theories are good enough to share with my son, they are good enough for me.” 

Draco wished the room could have swallowed them; even then, it might not have been enough to escape his father’s inquisition. 

Draco held his breath. 

Hermione nodded, a determined look crossing her face. “Of course, Mr. Malfoy. After reviewing the land deeds, and referencing the plans submitted by the oil company, it appears their pipeline is supposed to cross right through the graveyard on the Easternmost side of your property. There, Septimus Malfoy, born in 1772, and an influential politician and adviser for the Minister of Magic, is buried. If, perhaps, we could manage to convince the courts that he was a historical figure—”

Lucius lifted his hand to silence her. 

She was brilliant. So remarkably, magnificently brilliant. 

But brilliance wasn’t enough to out-wit his father. 

“Thank you for explaining my family history to me, Ms. Granger. Enlightening, really, but I fail to see how this theory will help win our case. Septimus Malfoy was only a politician in the wizarding world, and I will not have you falsifying his connection to muggles.”

“I’m still in the process of learning all I can so that I—”

“It’s been an entire week.” 

“You aren’t my only client, Mr. Malfoy,” Hermione said, the words on the cusp of a threat. 

He heard Lucius growl, a noise that sent his own wolf retreating deep into the confines of his mind. Hermione had the good grace to let her shoulders drop. 

Lucius remained seated at the desk, his gaze shifting between the feather and Hermione. “Forgive me. With how much time you’ve been spending at the manor, it was hard not to suspect otherwise.” He frowned, and the feather burst into flames. “I think, Ms. Granger, it's past time for you to study your theories in your own office. We do have a meeting early next week. Perhaps by then, you’ll be able to tell me about my great grandmother’s grave.” 

Hermione’s lips nearly disappeared, pursed tight, fighting to maintain control of her tongue. But his father’s commands—the Alpha of the Wiltshire Pack’s commands—were too strong to fight, and her feet seemed to move of their own accord toward the hearth. Draco wanted to beg her to look at him. He urged himself to chastise his father. To protect his chosen. 

But he couldn’t bring the words out of his chest. Couldn’t muster the power of his wolf in the face of his father’s. 

“Oh, and Ms. Granger,” Lucius called to her retreating form, eyes darting to the corner of the room—to the pile of ashes and the empty frame—then up to meet Draco’s glare. “I won’t be so generous the next time I find you’ve destroyed a precious family heirloom.”

  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had a lot of fun writing this chapter, and I hope you all had fun reading it! 
> 
> Endless thanks to mightbewriting and icepower55 for being the greatest human beings on the planet. They keep me sane and growing <3 
> 
> To all the wonderful, lovely folks who left comments and kudos, I thank you to the stars and back! I appreciate each and every one of you. As always, comments, critiques, and anything else you want to share is ALWAYS welcome here. Come hang out with me on Tumblr for sneak peeks, fun mood boards, and updates! 
> 
> Until next time  
> Endless_Musings


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